Stargate: The fall of the colonies
by AmigoButze
Summary: AU STORY: It's been six months since General O'Neill died. For Sam Carter and Daniel Jackson, it feels like something important is lost forever. When the Stargate malfunctions during a routine mission, they find themselves in the midst of an escalating conflict they do not understand. Will they be able to survive and even find what they have lost?
1. Chapter 1

Stargate: The falling of the colonies

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AU STORY: It's been six moths since General O'Neill died. For Sam Carter and Daniel Jackson, it feels like something important is lost forever. When the Stargate malfunctions during a routine mission, they find themselves in the midst of an escalating conflict they do not understand. Will they be able to survive and even find what they have lost?

A/N:  
Hi folks, this is a new AU Stargate fanfiction that I absolutely had to write. I'm not sure if something like this has already been written and if you'll even like this. But I thought I should give it a try and let you decide if it's a good read or not.

I have to point out, that English is not my native language and I have no beta reader. Therefore, errors can always occur.

For the story it is important to know that it will be AU and that I'm seriously messing with the original timeline. So, this is what happened before this story starts:  
-The Goa'uld are defeated an the Ori problem has never occurred  
-General Hammond was sent to Washington D.C. and O'Neill took over as head of the SGC  
-Carter was promoted to and took over SG-1  
-The Atlantis expedition started a few weeks before this story begins  
-I also use what happened in the movie continuum. But I changed the outcome of the execution of Ba'al. How exactly, Carter will tell you in the first chapter

I hope that you'll like this story and give it a chance and that you're not bothered about the changes I've made.

You should also know that this will be a crossover with an other great sci-fi series in later chapters. But I won't tell you which. Don't want to spoil the surprise effect. Maybe you already suspect correctly, given the title of this story?

So, what else is there to say? Oh, yes, this story is already completely written. Problem is, I've written it in my mother tongue, German. That means, I have to translate the chapters before I can post them. But I think I could publish a new chapter every week.

PS: In case anyone here also happens to read my other story 'Stargate: The Walking Dead'. I didn't forgot about it and I know it's been far too long since the last chapter. But I was halfway through a new chapter when I got the inspiration for this story and I just had to write it down nonstop. I hope the long wait hast not scared you away. Of course I will try to post a new chapter as soon as possible. But until then, you could maybe give this story a chance.

Of course, I want to point out that I don't own anything regarding Stargate and that I don't plan to generate any kind of financial profit with the publication of this story. This is just a hobby, not more.

On that note, I hope that you will enjoy this new story and if you do, I would be delighted about your feedback. Now, enough babbling, here's the first chapter. Have fun!

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Chapter 1: Bubble

The two suns stood high in the sky. It was unbearably hot. SG-1 hat managed once again to land on one of those sandy desert planets, that had nothing else to discover than Daniel's obligatory ruins. But today, at least for Carter, those ruins felt like 'seen one, seen them all'. Daniel thought differently, of course. But even he could find no reason to extend this trip. Those ruins were not that impressive or informative. He had carefully and thoroughly photographed and filmed them and was now ready to return to earth.

The members of SG-1 had already dismantled their camp for the night and were now on their way back to the gate. Mitchell and the new one walked ahead and chatted about the latest basketball results, while Daniel followed at some distance and Carter brought up the rear. But she liked it that way. In the last weeks, she hadn't really felt a like opening up to her teammates.

They weren't bad guys, really. Mitchell was a brilliant officer and his improvisational skills were an enrichment for the Stargate Command. The new one, Lt. Meyers, also made a good impression. It was clear to see, that both men were very proud to be part of the legendary SG-1 and therefore tried very hard to prove that they deserved a place in this team. It was a good team, an excellent team. But it was not hers anymore, Sam realized more often.

Mitchell, Meyers and even Daniel tried very hard to transfer the old camaraderie into a new one, but Carter had neither the energy nor the wish to participate. Something was missing, something existential had disappeared and had taken the good old days with it. And she also knew exactly who this something was.

She felt that choking feeling again, when she thought about it. She had spent the last few month thinking about it. About that awful day. About him. Most of the time alone. She just couldn't manage to do it in the presence of others. Not even in Daniel's. He was just too compassionate and understanding, always. The first time since she had met the archaeologist, Sam had the feeling that he simply did not understand. On the other hand, she found it painful to express herself and what she felt. It was so much, so intense and consuming that it often threatened to overwhelm her at times. Only once, at the funeral, she had felt understood. She and Teal'c had shared a quick look over the casket and it had felt as if there was the same pain in the Jaffa's stoic eyes.

But the shared pain had brought no relief and Teal'c had left for Chulak soon after. Or rather, he had downright fled. In nearly 10 years, It had been the first time that Sam had seen her big friend fleeing, but she couldn't blame him. She herself wanted to run away. But that was not possible, wasn't honorable, she heard her father say. She had to put up with all the grief and guilt. She just wondered how long it would take until she was over it. Although, maybe it was even better if she'd never cope with it. It would be the fitting punishment for her.

The General's death had been her fault alone. She didn't doubt that and nothing could convince her otherwise. She had been entrusted with the safety of Ba'al's execution. It had been her job to make sure that the General could watch with satisfaction, while the man who had tortured him got what he deserved. Of course, an execution was no party, but it might have brought the General some peace. God knew that he deserved it. But that was not how it did happen. Ba'al had tricked them again. That the bastard had still died in the end, was no relief at all. He had still managed to take the General with him, to kill him and force Carter into a full-blown depression.

After that, she cried for hours. Had mourned everything they had experienced together and all that could have followed, if they would have been a little more brave. Not as the officers Carter and O'Neill, but as Sam and Jack. Sam and Jack, Jack and Sam. She liked that. Liked the sound of it, simple but enough. But it held future now, perhaps there had never been one for them. Sam loved Jack, she knew that now. But it was too late. All those years in which she had wondered if it was really love, or whether she so much longed for someone who would always be there, that she had projected all her wished into her superior officer. After all, she had never met anyone who was as passionately honest, steadfast, faithful and loyal like O'Neill. It would have been just logical to put all her hopes in such a man. But it was neither misunderstood admiration or strong friendship, combined with physical attraction.

It was real, true, all-consuming love. Sam knew that she had never felt so strongly for another human being. So It had to be love. Even now, six month later, the feeling had not abated. On the contrary, it was getting stronger each day that she missed him. His presence, strength, confidence in her and even the bad jokes. Just everything. She often wished that she could change places with him. Then she would remember the day O'Neill had admitted that he would rather die himself that lose her. He had not said the exact words, but it was nevertheless a declaration of love. At that time, she'd been too confused and maybe even shocked to understand the depth of his feelings. Today, she knew how he had felt and that no one had ever said something more beautiful to her.

Carter felt again that all-consuming sadness an wiped a stray tear from her eyes. In front of her, Daniel turned and gave her a worried look. But she waved him off. With a heavy sigh, her turned around again, leaving her alone with her gloomy thoughts. Daniel. Her best friend. The poor guy. He tried so hard, but had no clue what to do with her. He wanted to help her, but it wasn't working. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't bring back the dead.

In the past, Sam had identified herself with her work. She was proud of herself and work was so much fun, that she had often spent her free time at the lab. It had satisfied and completely filled her. Gave her the opportunity to show all her skills and test her limits. SG-1 had helped her to become the best officer possible and so much more. But ever since that horrible day, the magic was lost. Instead of studying the Stargate and the alien technology with wonder that was renewed every day, she just acknowledged it. Cold, dry and mechanically her brain cataloged the exponents, but nothing more. Work no longer led her to her limits, didn't animate her to use all her capacities. Something, no someone was missing and it filled her with angst every time she realized, that she would never get it back again.

General Jack O'Neill was dead and had taken the magic of her work, the center of her joy, with him. And nothing and no one could ever again fill this gap. Recently, there had been a reason to hope. The brass had wanted her to take command of the Atlantis expedition. For three weeks, she had meticulously prepared for this new position and Sam had felt some of her spirits come back. But this frail feeling of delight hadn't last very long. Because, for some flimsy reason, she had been relieved of command before the expedition had even started. Dr. Elizabeth Weir was now leader at Atlantis. Weir now witnessed all the miracles in which Sam had put all her hope to get back some of her energy.

It wasn't that Carter thought Weir was not qualified enough or that she categorically rejected the possibility of a civilian leader in Atlantis. Weir was an excellent choice. Just like MacKay, who was the leading senior scientist. Everyone in Atlantis was an excellent choice. But she was excellent, too. She had seen this new position as her chance for a new beginning and even as a reward. Now it felt like the brass didn't trust her anymore. She felt pushed off. Like the superiors knew that she was burned out. That this work had consumed everything she had to give and now, she was pushed into a position in which she couldn't do much damage. And she also knew that she was supposed to be relieved that she had not gone to Atlantis. After all, the expedition had disappeared. For weeks now, the Stargate Center tried to contact the crew, but it was as if they had never arrived in the city. Nevertheless, the thought of just disappearing without a trace, held a strange fascination for Sam. She didn't know if that was a dangerous development in her personality or just the only logical conclusion, considering what she had experienced in recent years.

But it was pointless to mull over it. Maybe it was a sign that it was time to look for a new challenge. She didn't like this thought, but maybe it was time to say goodbye to SG-1. She was no longer the young, energetic, idealistic and a little bit naïve officer almost ten years ago. But she was still young and ambitious enough to start something new. For her own sake, she had to do something. If not, she was going crazy sooner or later. Something had to change, before the grief consumed her.

Meanwhile, they had reached the Stargate and Daniel, as always, dialed the coordinates. When the blue event horizon appeared with the well-known kawoosh, it was almost unbearable to see Meyers fascinated expression. That had been her, that had been her fascination for years. But now it was almost like a mockery of what she had once held dear.

Mitchell nodded at them briefly and stepped through the gate, followed closely by Meyers. Daniel hung back a bit and Sam shot him a quizzical look which he tried to avoid. He looked as if he had something hard to say.

"Daniel? Everything okay?" she asked gently. Her friend rubbed his neck sheepishly.  
"Yes, everything is okay. Great, actually."  
Sam watched him intently and saw the conflicted feelings in him.  
"I hear a 'but' coming." She commented and told him silently to finally say what was going on. She looked hard at the Stargate. It wouldn't be long until they would inquire what took them so long. She wanted to avoid that. It was bad enough, that her colleagues walked on eggshells around her. She didn't want to give them any more reasons to doubt her. Even if it was just being late.

"It worked, Sam!" Daniel announced proudly, but grimaced apologetically immediately afterwards.  
"Atlantis, I mean. My transfer wish was granted. I'm going to Atlantis. I mean, once we have rebuilt contact." He explained finally and appeared to feel bad and happy about it at the same time. Unlike others, Daniel still believed that the Atlantis expedition had been a complete success. Their people had reached this wonderful city and discovered new opportunities. They just couldn't sent a message. That was all. From experience, he knew that there could be dozens of reasons for that. That's why he had confirmed his wish to go to Atlantis as soon as they could deal the city's Gate every day. He had not given up the expedition. The mission of SG-1, however, was completed. Teal'c had been the first to understand. He left for Chulak to find new tasks. Not it was his turn. If one door closed, another one opened and for him, Atlantis was this door.

Sam grimaced and turned away. She knew that it was Daniel's greatest desire to see Atlantis. By destroying the Goa'uld, it felt as if their task was completed and it was only natural to look for new ones. She didn't begrudge Daniel's new chance at Atlantis. It was more like a clear sign for her. Now she knew that it was finally time to fold up her tent in Colorado Springs.

Teal'c had returned to Chulak. Hammond was happy with his new position in Washington D.C. Daniel would go to Atlantis and discover new wonders. Cassie had started her college and barely time to call.

It felt as if everyone she knew carried on with life. All were moving. She was the only one trapped in some kind of bubble in which time seemed to stand still. It was hard and painful to admit, but Sam would have to accept that her SG-1 family was lost forever.

"That's great, Daniel. I am really happy for you." She finally said, but also noticed how forced it sounded. Daniel took an uncertain step towards her, stretched out his hand as if to hug her, but then stopped his movement. Some time ago, a hug had been a normal contact between them. But now, it was as if a wall had build up between them.

"What's wrong?" he asked and looked at her doubtfully. Sam put up a stubborn face and fixated a point over his right shoulder.  
"I'll be fine. You don't have to worry. You'll leave as soon as contact is established again?"  
"That's the plan, yes."  
The words echoed hollow in her head. She saw it clearly now. Daniel had managed. He had coped with the loss and could look forward again. She didn't want to lose Daniel. Maybe she had to look at it as one last great act of friendship. Daniel forced he to go on with life. It was time.

She broke through the invisible wall between them and hugged her best friend. Daniel was surprised at first, but then he relaxed into the touch. Both allowed themselves a few seconds of rare closeness, then they parted again.

Mutely, they walked through the Stargate together. Maybe for the last time. They both felt the familiar tingling, as their bodies were dissect into their molecules. The last thing they noticed was an odd heat. It was like they were cooked alive and it was not normal. Something was happening with them and there was nothing they could do against it.

Maybe, she'd get her peace earlier that expected, Sam thought as she felt something unknown yanking her.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi guys, second chapter. Thanks for the reviews, but I want more….  
Have a nice week

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Chapter 2: Delphi

The first thing Daniel noticed was the cold. His body felt hard and utterly cold. But that was normal for a trip through the Stargate and he had experienced this hundreds of times. He could already feel the tiny ice crystals on his face melting and dissolving into water droplets.

The stabbing pain in his head however, that was new. It felt as if someone was cutting away the skin of his skull with a sharp scalpel. As the cold disappeared, the pain only got worse and spread through his entire body. Momentarily paralyzed, Daniel had no choice but to lie still and wait for it to go away. He pressed his face against the stone floor beneath him. The cold which radiated off the flat stones was little consolation for his sore skin. Somewhere near him, someone moaned softly.

Then he felt the pleasant weight of a supporting hand on his shoulder.  
"Take it easy, Daniel. It'll be over soon." Promised the unknown person. He recognized the voice immediately. It was Sam. At least he was not alone. Just as she had told him, feeling returned into his arms and legs and the stabbing pain left his body. Two helping arms supported him while he tried to sit up.

"Don't overdo it. It takes a few minutes until the dizziness passes."  
Daniel nodded an supported his body with his still shaky arms. He looked at Sam and realized that she must have coped with their unusual journey through the Stargate much better than him. She was already busily rummaging through her backpack and eventually found a flashlight. Only now did he notice, how dark it was around them.

The inarticulate "Thank you" that he managed as Sam put the backpack behind his back so he could lean against it was a clear sign, that his body was still processing whatever had happened to them. But at least his hand obeyed him so far that he could take the gun Sam held out to him.  
"Stay here. I'll take a look around." No sooner that she had said this, she disappeared into the shadows surrounding them.

Resting against the backpack and waiting for the full control of his own body to return, Daniel looked around the dark room. They had definitely not returned to the SGC, that was sure. The silence complemented the feeling of being alone. A nervous glance around confirmed his assumption. No trace of Mitchell and Meyers. They must have been separated. Sam and him landing here, while their teammates maybe had returned to earth.

Oh yeah, something had gone entirely wrong. But he forced himself to stay calm and finish his observations. Behind him loomed the reassuring presence of the Stargate, but an important part was missing. The DHD! It was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was only the gate. It stood quietly on some kind of pedestal. No trace of activity or that it had recently spat out two travelers from another planet.

Following Sam's example, he sat up straight and examined his surroundings some more. The room was large. Although it was gloomy, there were some isolated light sources. The dim light came from small spotlights that were embedded into the floor and directed towards a series of glass boxes arranged around the room. The atmosphere in this room seemed strangely familiar to him. He looked at the cold stone floor, the illuminated display cases and the slightly musty smell and embraced the feelings that washed over him. It was shock, fear and despair, but also curiosity, intimacy and the knowledge that this felt like home, somehow.

At that moment, Sam appeared out of the shadows between two showcases. The P90 hung from her shoulders, her right hand resting relaxed on its butt. From her posture, Daniel could see that her little exploring had revealed no potential dangers for them.  
"Daniel, I think we are in a…" she stated and Daniel finished the thought. "…a museum! I know."

She looked at him inquiringly and he just shrugged his shoulders briefly.  
"I've spent almost my whole childhood in museums. If you know one, you know them all, I guess."  
Daniel could pinpoint the exact moment, Sam remembered that he had lost his parents in an accident in such a place. She lowered her eyes apologetically and held out a hand. Daniel took it gratefully and let her pull him onto his feet.

Pleased that his balance had returned, he took a few steps and looked at the Stargate questioningly.  
"So, uh…what happened? Malfunction?"  
"Seems obvious. Something must have caused a defect right after we passed the event horizon."  
"What about Mitchell and Meyers?"  
"Well, they're not here. I think whatever caused this malfunction hasn't interfered with their journey through the Gate."  
Daniel took a few seconds to digest that information.  
"Makes sense. That would mean that they arrived at the SCG and are hopefully looking for us?"  
"I hope so."

"Do you have any idea how this happened or where we are?"  
Sam's gaze wandered pensively through the dark room. She had been a soldier for such a long time, that not much remained hidden from her trained eyes. Then she looked at the Stargate and pursed her lips. Normally, they were used to the Stargate located at an open area. A clearing, a plaza or another central location. Almost always a place that could be easily reached and used for transportation. In rare cases, they found themselves in a confined space after jumping through the Gate.

"Doesn't look like the Gate is damaged. But the DHD is missing and I see no technology that fits a culture we already met. There's also no evident energy source. But I need more hints to say what could have possibly happened. To be honest, I was hoping you could look at the exhibits more closely. Maybe there's something you recognize?"  
Daniel blinked. Why hadn't he thought of that? His body's reaction on the ruff journey through the Gate was probably still affecting his brain.  
"Oh! Of course." He shook his head at his own passivity, then roamed the showcases with Sam in tow.

He didn't see anything special at first. At least nothing that could give him a hint about this place. Jewelry, clay pots, cast iron pans, antique pens and coins. Nothing that piqued his interest. The stuff was to unspecific. But he still looked at everything carefully. Sam stood a few steps behind him, giving him enough space to think. She fumbled with the handle of her P90 while she waited patiently for his conclusion.

He took his time to examine the contents of another display case, but no sudden inspiration. A plan of this museum would be nice, he thought. One with a red dot that said 'you are here' and one that said 'the way back home is there'.  
"Well…" he began and caught himself unconsciously searching for his glasses. He was using contact lenses for some time now, but he forgot when he was deep in thought.  
"Yes, Daniel?"  
"So, there's not much to see."  
Carter's eyes looked around in disbelief. The room was huge with dozens of showcases and hundreds of exhibits and Daniel was claiming that there was nothing to see? The archaeologist understood her wonder and continued immediately.  
"I mean, of course, there are many exhibits. But nothing that indicates where we are right now. Nothing is specific enough. We could be anywhere."  
"There must me something we can work with." She said stubbornly and studied the artifacts herself.

"Well, all the artifacts that I've seen so far have strong similarities with the Greek culture. If I had to define it, I'd say they resemble the Hellenic era most. Definitely before the Roman expansion."  
Daniel's voice echoed softly through the room as he rummaged through the large amounts of knowledge that he kept stored in his brain. Sam was right. So many pieces. There had to be something useful to them. And there was something that stood out. All the exhibits showed a glaring absence of deities. Remnants of the Hellenic period on earth were normally full of heroic images, pictures of mythical figures, titans or other legendary creatures. He turned around for Sam to tell her about his latest insight, but she was gone.

"Uh, Sam?" he whispered into the darkness. Although they appeared to be alone in the museum, he didn't want to risk alarming someone. Just when it seemed that the silence extended around him, Sam's voice reached his ear.  
"Daniel! Up here, second floor." Her voice was subdued, so Sam was aware of their treacherous safety too.  
"Second floor?" From his position he could see only countless showcases, but no stairs.  
"There's a staircase in the back."  
Daniel strode past the glass boxes and navigated towards the direction of her voice. A beam of light cut through the darkness. It was Sam's flashlight and it showed him the way towards a massive staircase made of white marble. As he crossed the first steps, he recognized the blond hair of his companion on the top.  
"Daniel, you have to see this!" She called to him excitedly. He was infected by her enthusiasm and took two stairs at a time.

When he reached the top she grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him further into the next room. To say that what he saw there made him speechless, would be an understatement. Daniel felt as if his eyes wanted to jump out of their sockets with the desire to perceive all at once.

They stood in the middle of a room that consisted entirely of white marble. The floor was not square, like they were used to, but rhombic. Instead of walls, the facades were completely made of glass so that they could enjoy a 360 panoramic view around. It was dark outside and suggested that it was either night or early morning on this planet. The glass of the windows seemed to have some sort of special cut, because it caught the starlight and channeled it into four beams that met in the center of the room, illuminating a large statue with golden starlight.

Daniel recognized him immediately.  
"This is Apollo." He exclaimed and stepped closer.  
Before him stood the oversized statue of a man made of pearly stone. A big golden shield lay by his feet. A bow hung around his shoulder and his right hand held a sword that pointed at the heaven above. Speaking of heaven…even the ceiling was glass and offered one of the most spectacular views of a starry sky he'd ever seen.

The glass walls and ceiling, combined with the bundled starlight made them feel like standing in the middle of the starlit sky. Together with Apollo, son of Zeus. Very symbolic.  
"It's wonderful." Was the only thing he could offer at the moment.  
"Like we're sitting on a could." Sam breathed.  
Unlike him, she was able to turn her eyes away from the statue, walking to one of the glass windows instead. Not only could she see the starry sky above, but also the bright lights of two cities. The museum lay embedded into the houses of a small town, a dark forest close by. In the background glistened the bright lit skyline of a much larger city. The contours of the city stood out in the dark like a huge metropolis. Colorful lights of flashing neon signs and headlights broke through the darkness of the night and illuminated the outlines of big skyscrapers, making the city pulsating with life. In the horizon loomed the bright outline of another luminous planet. It seemed, in spite of the nocturnal darkness, as if the planet was wide awake.

Wherever they were, this planet was urbanized and at first glance, technically advanced.  
"Sam, look at that." Urged Daniel's excited voice. She turned to him and her eyes followed his outstretched arm to the ceiling. Only now did she notice that the sky there was not the same as outside. It seemed rather like a projection of another complex star system. The system housed two, no four stars and each of them was encircled by several smaller stars and other celestial bodies.  
"Do you recognize anything?" Daniel wanted to know, because stars were her métier.

"It's a double-double star system!" she breathed spellbound and despite Daniels confused staring, couldn't turn away from the projection.  
"Huh? Double-double star? I only see two." At first it seemed that she didn't hear him, but then she responded and it was clear to see, how hard it was for her to tear her eyes away form the star system.  
"Look more closely! A double-double star system consists of two double stars that are located in a special kind of way. It looks as if there are just two stars, but there are four of them. Even if it looks as if the stars are close together, they are not. They only reside along the same line of sight. This one is even more evident that Epsilon Lyrae."  
"O-kay…Epsilon Lyrae?" Daniel mumbled absentminded and squinted his eyes to see what had Sam so captivated. Only with a lot of effort could he make out that there were indeed four stars. However, his definition of 'evident' was clearly different from Sam's understanding. If she wouldn't have pointed it out for him, he would most definitely not have noticed the four stars.  
"Epsilon Lyrae is the most clearly recognizable double-double star in the milky way. It's pretty much 162 light-years away from Earth. But I've never seen a double-double star like this. That's fascinating! I whish we had a camera here!" She almost rejoiced, ignoring Daniel's presence when she turned back to the projection.

The archeologist gave her a few silent minutes during which he wondered, if he was as unreachable as she was now when he discovered a ruin that fascinated him. Thoughts of Jack came unbidden. Jack would give him a moody answer to his question, garnished with several grouchy words. He quickly repressed the memories of his once best friend before they could trigger the usual bitterness. There was no time for that. They had to find a way out of here and preferably a way back home.

He took a step towards his friend and touched her arm gently. He didn't want to interrupt her. After all, it had been months since she'd found something that inspired her like that.  
"Sam? Can you conclude where we are?"  
Her regretful glance was his answer.  
"No, I'm sorry. It's definitely a double-double star like Epsilon Lyrae….but like I said. I've never seen one like this. It…It's perfect."

"So-we don't know where we are, how we got here and how we can get back." He summarized their situation deflated, while trying again to grab the glassed that were still not there. He would have to break this habit sometime.  
"What about you? Can you classify this guy?" She turned to him and looked at the stone Apollo and it's obvious nudity with skepticism.  
"Well, this is Apollo. He was the son of Zeus and Leto. His legend arises from the Greek mythology. He's the god of light, healing, music and patron to the archers. This is why he is often portrayed with bow and arrow…" he stopped talking so abruptly, that Sam cast a worried glance at him.  
"Daniel? You okay?"  
During his explanation, he had walked around the statue and noticed that the bundled starlight was reflected by something golden in Apollo's left hand. As if hypnotized, Daniel stepped up to the statue and stared at the object right in front of his face.

His brain rejected what his eyes could clearly see. His heart beat faster with fascination.  
"Oh my God! That can't be true…but, I mean I can see it. It has to be…how is that possible?" he murmured as if he was only speaking to himself and Sam struggled to understand him. She followed his awestruck gaze and frowned when she saw the golden arrow in the statue's left hand. What was so great about an arrow?  
"Daniel?" She asked him quietly to share his thoughts. He started several times and stopped again, overwhelmed, before he finally found intelligible words.  
"The arrow of Apollo!" He cried out and his slightly unbelieving face met Sam's puzzled one.

"In Greek mythology, Apollo was also the god of destruction and rescue. A big part of the Apollo cult is based on his visionary abilities. He received these by killing Pynthos and appropriating his ability of divination. He killed Pynthos with an arrow. The same arrow which he used to end the Trojan war and exact vengeance on his father. Do you understand? This here…" he interrupted himself to gesture towards the golden arrow.  
"I think this here is the original arrow of Apollo. The artifact on which not only the Apollo cult is based on, but also countless myths and legends. If this is the real arrow…it means that these legends are all true. Or at least that there is a real model for the mythical figure of Apollo and maybe even the other gods too."

Carter watched her friend skeptically.  
"I don't know, Daniel. Are you even sure that this it the real arrow? And why is it here instead of earth?"  
Daniel frowned, pondering the arrow's, and Apollo's, existence on this planet.  
"Hmm…according to the legend the arrow actually existed. But with the spread of the Roman culture in Europe, the old legends and all clues to the whereabouts of the arrow disappeared. Many experts are sure that it never really existed. That's it's just fantasy."  
"But you're not one of them." Sam concluded and was rewarded with a satisfied smile.  
"No. I have always believed that there was some truth in these legends. I mean, the arrow is mentioned in so many of them. Not all of it can be fiction."  
"And of course you have a theory about what happened to the arrow."  
"Umm, well, not really…" he confessed with a shy smile. "I've been too busy with other godlike guys." He pointed out, thinking of the Goa'uld.

"Of course." She said at last, her eyes wandering again through the mesmerizing room. She had really seen a lot of fascinating and beautiful things these last years. But this combination of elegant marble and stone, the bright rays of starlight and the perfect darkness of the night sky had the potential to make it into her top five list. Unfortunately, it brought them no closer to the answers they needed to get back home. Sighing, she turned back to Daniel.  
"So. How does the arrow get from earth to this planet?"  
"Goa'uld?" Offered Daniel helpfully.  
"I don't think so." Sam thought out loud and made a sweeping gesture to the skyline visible through the massive glass windows.  
"Doesn't look like this civilization has been visited by the Goa'uld lately." She finally concluded and Daniel was inclined to agree. The Goa'uld had always haunted worlds before they could develop even a technical minimum standard. What they did not destroy, the self proclaimed gods stole and integrated into their own ships and weapons. The Goa'uld would have never allowed a civilization to develop like this, to a standard that would have allowed this planet and it's population to present a potential danger for the system lords. So, either the snakes had known nothing about this planet, or the people who lived here had found a way to fight them off.

"What now?" he wanted to know and Sam shrugged her tired shoulders in response.  
"We find a way out of here and mingle with the crowd. Maybe we'll get to know something about their culture and how they use the Stargate."  
Daniel affirmed this suggestion with a silent nod. They had mastered many similar situations because they had managed to adapt. Well, some better than others, he added silently and again, he saw unwanted memories of Jack O'Neill. His childish behavior and loud protest when they were forced to put on some embarrassing clothes or take part in a bizarre ritual. Although they had often been in mortal danger when that happened, he was able to think about it with a honest smile. For many months it had not been possible for him to remember something, even if it was trivial, about his friend without the desire to hit something. Anything. But he had learned to allow just the good feelings and memories to come to the surface, just like he did with Sha're. No negative feelings. It wasn't easy and took time, but was way better than the alternative.

With a glance at Sam as she stood at the wide glass windows, looking longingly, searchingly, out to the vibrant skyline, Daniel suddenly realized that his friend hadn't reached the same level of coping with bereavement. She couldn't let go of the pain and focus solely on the good things. That was probably the reason why she always seemed listless and depressed. Why there was a thick wall between them. Daniel felt like the biggest idiot and wanted to hit his head. He had been so busy with his own grief and mourning, that he had not realized that Sam was still trapped in her own valley of tears. At this moment, he swore to himself that he would help her to move on with life. Jack wouldn't want them to suffer. Especially her. But Sam was resigning and he couldn't let that happen. There was still so much she could do and give. He just had to make her see. As soon as they had found a way to get back home. He'd even postpone his trip to Atlantis, if he had to. Sam was more important. But first, they had to get back to Earth.

"Shall we?" He woke Sam from her daydreaming und nodded towards the marble stairway. There were not further doors or stairs in the room, so he guessed they would have go back the way they'd came from. Sam shouldered her heavy backpack and went ahead.

What exactly had persuaded him to do what the did next, Daniel had no clue. He hadn't really thought about it. It was like a reflex, an invisible pull. In retrospective, he really should have known better. All those years, he had spent as a child and later adult in museums. Even though he had no idea where they were, or how they could go back, he should have known that valuable artifacts like the arrow of Apollo were alarm protected in every civilization. But like he said, he just wasn't thinking. So he yielded to his need to touch the arrow just once. To feel history coming alive under his hands. As he watched his hand slowly approaching the arrow, he could hear Jack's voice -or was it Sam?- loud and clear.

"No, Daniel! Don't touch it!"  
But it was already too late. When his finger touched the golden arrow, the museum's peaceful atmosphere was passé. Instead, spotlights brighter than daylight and several sirens roared through the whole building. His face twisted into an expression of apology, as he turned to Sam.  
"Daniel!" she admonished with the aura of a desperate teacher who didn't know how to tame her problem students. He ducked his head and managed a half-hearted "Sorry."  
She sighed again and peered down the stairs. Nobody seemed to respond to the alarm, but that wouldn't last long.

Just as she was about to open her mouth, the loud voices of several men reached their ears from the lower floor. Their eyes met alarmed. The men's steps sounded heavy and she concluded that they were probably heavily armed. Judging from their calls, there were at least half a dozen of them. Daniel and she were outnumbered and outgunned. With quick hands, she began to disarm herself. First, the P90 landed a few feet away on the ground and before she'd registered Daniel's quizzical look, several knives and her pistol joined the personal defense weapon on the floor.  
"Away with the weapons, Daniel! Whoever that is, they are many and we don't want to give them any reason to shoot." She told him. Daniel understood at once and also got rid of his weapons. He kicked his gun away from him not a second too soon. Together with Sam's weapons, they'd build a not unimpressive heap of firepower just as several men stormed up the stairs. Following Sam's example, he raised his hands and tried to appear as harmless as possible.

The men positioned themselves in front of the stairs and blocked their only escape route. Not that Daniel wasted one thought on the idea of fleeing. With all the fire power those guys carried in their muscled arms, he probably wouldn't take one step without being perforated. He was sure they'd turn him to Swiss cheese.  
They were all dressed in black with matching anonymous storm masks and assault rifles, looking ready to shoot first and ask questions later. His heart pounded so wildly, that his temples began to ache. Almost incidentally, he registered how similar clothing, behavior and weapons of this foreign security forces were to their own equipment.

For a painfully long moment, both parties faced each other. Then the two men standing in the middle stepped aside and opened a way for another man. He quietly walked up to them and studied first the weapons on the ground, and then Sam and Daniel with the cool look of a man that had experienced situations like this a lot of times. He wore no mask and weapon, apparently he thought that the firepower of his men was good enough to keep two unarmed strangers in check.  
"I'm Mashall Belzen from Caprica Security Forces. Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my museum?" His voice was hard and admitted no contradiction.

While Daniel's brain worked frantically to find connections between the knowledge that was already in his brain and the mention of a place called Caprica, he shot Sam an asking glance. While she was the senior officer and commander of SG-1, first contact had always been his task.

So he raised his hands in a gesture which hopefully reassured his opponents and cleared his throat.  
"My name is Dr. Daniel Jackson…" he began respectfully, pointing with a nod to Sam, "…and this is Colonel Samantha Carter. We are peaceful explorers. We are looking for friends to trade, or share culture." He recited the speech he had spoken about a hundred times already. At the same time, he noticed that Sam grimaced and immediately recognized his almost faux pas. He sincerely hoped, that the armed men wouldn't see their weapons, hear his speech and conclude that for them sharing culture was synonymous with stealing culture.

But Marshall Belzen, clearly the leader of the troop, didn't react to Daniel's words.  
"Why did you break into the museum?" He asked instead, ordering one of his men to pick up the several weapons from the ground. He pointed at a P90 and examined the weapon with interest. He skillfully removed the magazine and threw it at their feet. Apparently he knew how to use such weapons.  
"Peaceful, you say?"

"Well, we made a lot of friends on our travels. But not every planet is friendly. Sometimes, we have to defend ourselves." Daniel tried to explain, looking at Sam for help. But she was busy seizing up the armed men. She was cataloging weapons, equipment, discipline and stored this information away for later.  
"Why don't you tell me, Dr. Daniel Jackson, what kind of enemies you expect to encounter in a museum at night?"  
Daniel opened his mouth spontaneously and then closed it again. Marshall Belzen had a point there. Museums weren't particularly very dangerous places.  
"Okay, granted, this doesn't look very good for us.." He began and was already aware of how snippy he sounded.

Luckily, Marshall Belzen remained calm, almost to calm, as he made a threatening step towards Sam and Daniel.  
"I always counter terrorists with a maximum force of arms." He growled and Daniel turned his face away from Belzen's stale breath, as the accusation hit him.  
"Terrorists! We're not terrorists!" he exclaimed and admired Sam's discipline. She stood beside him like nothing could affect her. She gave nothing away of what she felt right now. Not like him. He was apparently communicating a lot, even if the didn't say something. The Marshall grinned at him coldly.  
"Who are you then? And please, no frak* about peaceful research."  
"But that's the truth! We are scientists, from Earth!"  
Daniel's words were supposed to sound convincing, but instead Belzen's facial features derailed and he alternately pointed a threatening finger at Sam and Daniel.  
"I don't want to hear anymore of that crap! Who are you? Why are you here? Who are your accomplices?"  
His gruff questions shot around Daniel's ears like bullets and again, he turned to Sam for help.

"My friend is telling the truth. We are scientists. We are not danger for you. We came through the Stargate. It malfunctioned, that's why we are here. We just want to go back home." Sam finally explained and Daniel was relieved, that her voice was calm and sober, despite their predicament. But her words didn't reach the Marshall's understanding.  
"What the hell is a Stargate?" He appeared to lose his patience with them. _Well, you're not the only one getting annoyed_ , thought Daniel. The man was so damned stubborn, that it was slowly hacking away at Daniel's nerves.  
"Um…the round circle of stone downstairs? Chaapa'ai?" he offered and registered with pleasure, as the man's eyebrow began to twitch nervously.  
"Cappa-frakking what?!"

"I've got no time for that." He said to no one particular as he gave his men an order.  
"Bring those crazies to the Global Defence Department." And he added casually, "Let them deal with this shit. I'm not putting up with all the paperwork, I've got tickets for the Pyramid-final*."

Sam and Daniel looked at each other with confusion. Global Defense Department? Pyramid finale? None of this sounded familiar to them. Although no one wanted to talk to them, it was clear to see that the men were well trained and professionally. After they were cuffed with strangely looking handcuffs, they were roughly shoved through the room, down the stairs and out of the building. Outside, black vans already waited for them. Sam tried to observe as much as possible. Before they were both pushed unceremoniously into the van, she risked one last look into the dark night sky.

On the horizon, the light of the rising sun lurked already. Sam sighed, the sunrise would have been beautifully so see from the glass room. Instead, they were on an unknown planet and in the hands of an unknown executive which was convinced that they were terrorists and should be taken care of. The van drove them away from the Stargate and away from their only way home. It was months ago that they had been in such a crappy situation and Sam could not say that she had missed it. But at least, she was not alone. She gave her companion an encouraging look. Daniel returned her gesture and shrugged as if to say 'We've survived worse'.

* * *

*frak=popular cussword on the planet; synonymous to 'fuck'  
*Pryamid=most popular team sport on the planet


	3. Chapter 3

**So, here's the next chapter. I'm afraid, the noose is slowly tightening around our two heroes.  
Hope you like, hope you review and hope you'll have a nice weekend. **

* * *

**Chapter 3: Under suspicion**

Because of the dark-tinted windows of the van, they had no chance to catch a glimpse outside. In the presence of two men, very grim-looking and armed to the teeth, Carter and Jackson spent about three hours travel time in complete disorientation. While Carter might have been able to reconstruct their way based on turning, speed and distance estimation, those information was useless until they knew where they were exactly. Daniel had tried hard to talk to the black dressed soldiers, but they just glared at him darkly.

As the van finally stopped, one of the guards checked on their handcuffs before the door was opened from the outside. The armed men helped them out of the van, not particularly gently, but also not inappropriate aggressive. They behaved extremely cold and distant, offering no opportunity to build up some sympathy for their captives. . The two friends had already concluded that it would be not easy for them to escape.

On the short walk between the van and the nearby building, Sam and Daniel had little time to perceive their surroundings. But what they could see, puzzled them. Carter threw Daniel a wondering glance, as both of them were dragged towards a three-story building with the outer charm of a concrete block.

Now, they got a better look at the huge city they had previously observed from the museum and they couldn't help but wonder. If they would not know without a doubt that this was a foreign planet, they'd bet that this was a city on earth. Although they knew no city on earth with similar proportions, everything here felt strangely familiar and foreign at the same. The architecture of the buildings, the roads, the greenery. Nothing was the same, but still damned similar. There were even cars speeding along the tarred streets. Of course, they couldn't know whether the technical construction was the same, the absence of the typical smell of a combustion engine indicated that it was not, but the resemblance in design was undeniable.

All too soon the wide doors of the building closed around them, ending their examination. But the similarities were carried on inside. Everything, absolutely everything, looked like a typical judicial office. The dark floor, the grey walls, a nondescript wooden bar at the front and a woman in a dark blue suit behind it, holding something in her hand that looked like…was that a phone? The man who took care of Carter nodded to the woman as they passed by.

"Got two new ones for Agent Forster." He commented and didn't stop to wait for an answer.  
"He's waiting for you. Third floor, room 5." The women mumbled indifferent and didn't even look up at them.

They reached the third floor via, who would have thought that, an elevator. The function was the same, but the design slightly different. The entrance was a-shaped instead of square. The buttons not round, but formed like a diamonds. The obligatory ding announced their arrival at the floor.

The armed men tugged at their shoulders and Carter and Daniel had no choice but to follow. They were led into a large office filled with standardized wooden desks. Sam let her gaze wander and counted 10 people. They all wore dark suits, apparently the dress code, and watched the two earthlings with openly hostile and somehow pejorative eyes. Carter was pretty sure that they all knew that they were terror suspects. Terrorism was apparently a very sore spot.

Daniels guard opened the door to a room and they were both shoved inside. The room was sterile looking and inventory was limited to a desk and three chairs. Sam felt two hands pushing at her shoulders until she finally sat on one of the chairs. Daniel was forced to sit beside her and both were tied to a hook at the floor. Without so much as looking at them, the two guards left the room and the two friends were alone again.

Once the door had closed behind them, Sam yanked at her chains and tried to make the chair fall over in the hope of loosing her shackles. But the chair was somehow attached to the ground. Unfortunately, there was no obvious and fast way to loose their handcuffs.

Daniel copied her movements and tugged a few more times halfheartedly at his chains. He gave up with a sigh. "We're really good at getting into situations like this." He stated and Sam agreed with him. "Right. I wish I could have the same luck in the lottery."

Carter made the best out of her minimized mobility and looked more closely around the room.  
"Where the heck are we?" she asked, searching for clues on the desk in front of her. A scrap of paper with a note, a business card or something like that. But there was nothing, except something that looked like a large desk pad. The material was interesting. It was not made of ordinary paper. It shimmered peal white and the corners were cut off like a longish octagon. Sam cocked her head to the side and held her breath. At a certain angle, the light of the ceiling lamp reflected on the smooth material and something like a structure shimmered through. Almost like a microchip.

"Sam!" warned Daniel suddenly and nodded frantically towards the door. Behind the frosted glass of the door appeared the outlines of a man and shortly thereafter, the owner of said shape stepped into the room. He, too, wore the stereotypical suit and carried a big gray cardboard box.

He didn't look at them as he took place behind the desk and started placing the items of the box onto the tabletop. It was their equipment. Tools, electrical appliances and of course, lots and lots of weapons. Separated from the ammunition, Sam noticed and was sure that those people definitely thought that Daniel and she were dangerous.

They exchanged puzzled glances. They'd been captured and interrogated many times. But rarely had an interrogation been so relatively painless. Actually, they were accustomed to being thrown into a dungeon, drugged or tortured. This was a nice change. Nevertheless, they had no reason to underestimate the man before them. It seemed that this civilization was highly technologized. But that didn't mean that they had such a thing as human rights. There were a hundred ways to force captives to talk. One didn't necessarily need a pain stick.

The man was finally done rummaging through their equipment and cleared his throat. He looked at them both inquiringly, before he spoke.  
"My name is Agent Brad Forster, Global Defence Department." He introduced himself and watched them expectantly for a reaction, as if he was convinced that they should know who he was. While Sam was silently waiting, Daniel did him the favor and responded. He raised his hand to offer a handshake, but remembered that he was cuffed.  
"Um…hi!" he said eventually. "I am doctor Daniel Jackson and this is Colonel Samantha Carter. We are peaceful explorers. This isn't necessary." Daniel rattled with his chains to emphasize his point.

Agent Forster looked at them neutrally and folded his hands in front of him.  
"Mr. Jackson, Mrs. Carter, if those are you real names, do you know why you are here?"  
"These are our real names and…" Daniel began, but was interrupted quickly.  
"You are accused of planning and/or participating in a terrorist attack at the historical museum in Delphi." Declared the Agent firmly, but otherwise emotionless.

"What?!" exclaimed a shocked Daniel. "This is a misunderstanding, we…"  
The archaeologist was again interrupted by the Agent and slowly, Daniel got the feeling that this was Forsters interrogation style. He asked a simple question, but didn't give his opponent a chance to explain. Jackson had to admit, it was a very frustrating and therefore working style. He decided to be on guard and stay calm.

"So, you deny the accusations?" Inquired the Agent.  
"Yes." Confirmed Daniel. He wanted to say more, of course, but he refrained from doing so. He refused to fall for the trick again. Instead, he turned the tables and this time it was him looking expectantly and forcing the agent to ask again.  
"And what should make me believe you?" Forster finally demanded to know.

Daniel thought for a moment. Those accusations were unfounded, but how could they prove their innocence? They had no convincing evidence, except assuring that they had not been in that museum to blow it up.  
"I have no evidence. But I assure you, we are scientist, not terrorists." He declared with honest eyes. The agent leaned back in his chair, completely unimpressed. Instead, he looked for a certain object of their equipment and pushed the clunky thing towards them when he found it.

"Can one of you maybe explain what you wanted to explore with this?"  
Daniel breathed hard and Sam squeezed her eyes shut. It was the c4 from their equipment. This definitely didn't improve their situation. There was not much they could say to explain why they had explosives with them. In a museum at night, nonetheless. Daniel had to acknowledge that they had to look very guilty for someone like Agent Forster. The only thing that could help them now, was the truth. He threw Sam a deliberative glance to make sure that she agreed. It was not always tactically wise to declare where they came from. Often enough, it was important to protect earth's coordinates. And now? Sam nodded, although somewhat timidly. So she had no better idea, too.

"You're right. These are explosives." Daniel began. It seemed needless to deny that. The agent wasn't stupid. "But we never had the intention to destroy the museum. Or anything else, for that matter. It's just part of our standard equipment."  
This seemed to have woken up the other man's interest. He pointed to their remaining weapons.  
"Just like these weapons, here?" he asked.  
Daniel nodded eagerly and confirmed, "Exactly. Everything we had with us belongs to our gear. Not all of this is a weapon. We have many other tools with us. This, for example, " he nodded at his voice recorder, "is a device which allows you to record speech. It works…"

"I know how it works!" interrupted Forster offended. It probably didn't sit well with him that Daniel thought he had to explain him the workings of such a banal piece of technique.  
"So, you're saying that all of this belongs to your official gear. Does that mean you're some kind of a team?"  
Jackson sighed with relief. Maybe he was finally getting through to the other man.  
"Yes, that's right. Our team is called SG-1. Colonel Carter and I belong to it. But we have two more members, Colonel Mitchell and Lt. Meyers. We currently don't know where they are, but…"  
Actually, Daniel had planned to assure again that SG-1 presented no threat, but the moment he had mentioned Mitchell and Meyers, the agent's eyes darkened and he grimaced with fury.

"SG-1? Is that the name of your terrorist cell? Where are your accomplices? Which attacks are planned?" Forster demanded to know and Daniel let his head fall back with frustration. The agent had understood it completely wrong.  
"We are no terrorists!" he conjured again. "We are scientists, researchers, just like our colleagues. SG-1 is no terrorist cell, it's the name of our unit." Daniel explained sternly, but he could see that the other man didn't believe him.

"Are you part of the Sagittaron Freedom Movement?  
Jackson blinked irritated, but it was Sam who answered. Her voice was pleasantly composed. Apparently she sensed that he was about to loose his patience, so she took over.  
"We don't know what you are talking about. As Dr. Jackson said, we are scientists."

Forster addressed all his attention to her now. He studied her coldly.  
"And what exactly is your role in this team? Are you a explorer, too? I thought you hold a military rank?" He asked, sounding almost genuinely interested. But Sam had the felling that it didn't matter what they told him. He had already labeled them as a danger and whatever they said, it wouldn't change his mind. But until their colleagues and friends from the SGC could send help, they had no other choice but to keep trying.

"I am an Air Force Colonel. I'm in charge of this team."  
Forster's eyes were fixed on her intently. She noticed how small his pupils were.  
"So you're the leader of your cell?"  
Carter gritted her teeth. He was obsessed with the assumption that they were terrorists.  
"No. As I said. We are scientists and I'm the highest ranking officer in the team."

The agent let her words sink in. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his short legs in front of him. Thoughtfully, he cocked his head to the side and tapped his left forefinger in a slow tune at the table.  
"Hmmm." He sighed. "Colonel Carter, yes? Well, at least we can work with that."  
Forster leaned forward again and wiped his hand over the strange shiny paper that had held Sam's interest before.

Intrigued, Daniel and Sam watched as the white paper came to life. Very briefly, for the blink of an eye, fine lines appeared and shone in a green light. Then this was replaced by strange symbols that were arranged like information of a database. His pulse quickened when he realized that he'd seen similar letters before. Greek letters, to be precisely. He tried to decipher some of them, but Forster typed something and the display changed before Daniel could took a closer look. The next letters resembled greek again, but even without being able to read them, he knew that they were bad news. The letters blinked red, framed by an orange box. Red and orange. Neon colors always meant trouble, no matter what planet or culture.

Forster turned the paper, or rather paper-like screen around and looked expectantly at Sam. Apparently he assumed that she could read what was written. She hid the fact that she couldn't and instead stared at the agent.  
"Well, what do you think of that? Can you explain this?"  
"Explain what, exactly?" She retorted neutral, without letting on that she had no clue what he was talking about.  
"There is no female Colonel Carter in the databases of the Colonial Forces. You're not an engineer, a marine, a deckhand and certainly not a pilot. Also, no trace of a so called research team SG-1! I ask you again, how can that be?" He asked her with a superior expression on his face. He was so sure that he had convicted them and that there was nothing to explain this logically.

For Sam and Daniel it was clear that there was just one possibility left for them. They had to tell the truth about earth. There seemed no other way to refute his accusations, right? Carter took a deep breath and contemplated her next words. Was it right to tell him about earth? Or should they deny anything and risk being thrown into prison? It was their most important task to protect earth and it's coordinates. On the other hand, what they had seen of this planed indicated that these people were similar to them. Highly intelligent and technologically developed, maybe more than people on earth. Maybe this was a unique opportunity to find a powerful ally. A lie could destroy the chance for a valuable partnership. Trust was build on truth and sincerity, not lies and excuses, she knew that.

Finally, she decided to go with the truth. She couldn't say why. There were as many weighty reasons for and against it, but she listened to her gut feeling.  
"You can't find us in your database because we are not part of your Colonial Forces. We are part of the United States Air Force." She stated and waited for his reaction.  
For the first time, Forster was honestly surprised.

"Air Force? I never heard something about an Air Force. I know nothing about those United States you're talking about." Deep wrinkles formed on his forehead.  
 _Of course you don't know, thought Sam. After all, You've never been on Earth_.  
Taking a deep breath she hoped that it was the right decision. Now or never.  
"The United States of America are on Earth. We are from Earth."

For a moment, there was complete silence in the room. When the agent finally responded, it was not like Sam and Daniel had expected. They had never met a foreign culture that reacted like this when earth was mentioned. Namely with guffaws. Forster began to laugh loudly. With his left hand he held his stomach und with his right wiped tears from his eyes. His face was already turning scarlet red. What was so amusing about it, Carter and Jackson didn't know. Quite the contrary. It was condescending, because they were clearly laughed at.

In the absence of other options, they waited for Forster to overcome his laughing fit. He chuckled a few times and wiped the last tears from his eyes. Then he shook his head in disbelief and pointed his index finger at her.  
"You almost got me there! Earth! Very funny. Didn't know that you Sagittaron people have so much humor."  
"That was not a joke." Hissed Carter and had restrain herself form making a rude comment.  
"We told you the truth!" Daniel supported her. "We traveled through your Stargate."

Forster ignored their protestations.  
"Okay, you had your fun. I've never heard something about a Stargate and I haven't believed in Earth for over 30 years."  
Daniel and Sam exchanged irritated looks. They knew that Forster saw this too, but couldn't help themselves. It took them completely by surprise, that someone denied the existence of earth. They were used to planets no knowing anything about earth. But they had never met a civilization that knew about earth, but didn't believe that the planet really existed.

They had no more time to think about that, because Agent Forster had obviously heard enough. With a gentle touch of his finger the digital paper turned off. He leaned back again, but this time not casually. His words carried a threatening finality.  
"I think we are finished here. I gave you an opportunity to refute the accusations or to make a confession. But you rejected my help and instead, you tell me children's stories. The evidence against you is overwhelming. Because you obviously don't want to cooperate, I have no other choice but to relocate you to Libran. The Astral Queen will take you there. On Libran, you'll get a fair trial. I strongly advice you to use the time on the Astral Queen to think about your defense before court. Think about a confession. I doesn't have to end with death penalty."

He looked at them both intently. Then he got up without a word and left the room. Sam and Daniel stared rigidly at the now empty chair in front of them with many confusing thoughts buzzing in their heads. When the two guards came back and led them away, they could think about nothing else but what Agent Forster had said last. They were threatened with death penalty and this time, it seemed that there would be no last-minute rescue. No one knew what had happened to them and where they had stranded. They had no clue what would happen to them. Perhaps, this was their last adventure.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Here is chapter 4 and O'Neill joins the game. Next chapter, they'll finally meet again. But they won't have much time to chatter.**_

 _ **PS: Thanks for all your nice reviews. Cool to know that you like it.**_

 _ **PPS: After this chapter, it's clear that this is indeed a Battlestar Galactica crossover. The re-imagined series from 2003. This covers what happens in the miniseries.**_

 _ **PPPS: To all who also read my other story, taking place in the Walking Dead universe, there's finally a light on the end of the tunnel! I've finished the next chapter, alas in german, and now I just have to translate it. Because engish is not my native tongue I write everything in german first and then translate it into english. It's takes much time, but is easier for me that way.**_

 _ **Now, hope you'll like this chapter too. If yes, feel free to let me know. If not, tell me too.  
Have a nice week!**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 4: Triadface***_

The air in the small room was thick with the smell of Kara "Starbuck" Thrace's fumarella cigar as she blew a steam of smoke right into Karl "Helo" Agathon's face. The man pointed his lolly accusingly in her direction. "Stop that Kara, it stinks!" The addressed young woman just smiled challengingly and send another little grey cloud of smoke in his direction.

Major Jack "Titan" O'Neill watched Starbuck's antics with a good natured smile. He knew what Thrace was up to. She had a bad hand and tried to bug Helo into loosing his concentration. And it worked like a charm. When the scratchy smoke encased his face a second time, Helo threw his cards on the table and launched himself on her. The two pilots wrestled in a jest for some time.

The other players on the table, Sharon "Boomer" Valerii and Marcia "Showboat" Case, held their triad cards patiently in their hands and watched the mock struggle. O'Neill knew that his best Viper pilot and his best Raptor pilot were displaying quite a show and in his position as their CAG he really should stop them, but today he didn't particularly feel like following the orders.

It may be their last card game together…heck…it was their last card game together. When this day was over, they'd all follow their respective transfers and vanish in all directions. So he decided to lean back and enjoy the last few hours with his pilots. They were great guys, every single one of them and together they were a great team. The best, as far as he knew -and cared.

But that hadn't saved them and Galactica from falling victim to budget cuts in the Colonial Forces. Disarmament was a done deal and the former flagship in the first Cylon War was to be converted into a stupid museum ship. Even the highly decorated and respected Commander, William Adama, had been unable to reverse Richard Adar's, President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, decision to remove Battlestar Galactica from service.

Galactica was considered an outdated and ineffective Battlestar and therefore it seemed illogical for the politicians to spend money, time and expensive equipment to update a ship when they could just order a brand new one at Scorpion Fleet Shipyards. The fleet already had a new crown jewel that seemed to fit the requirements of the new politics far better than the martial appearing Galactica. Battlestar Pegasus was everything Galactica was not. Smaller, but equipped with the newest technical knickknacks, this new flagship with it's very young and very ambitious crew was supposed to be the new spearhead of the Colonial Forces. A position, that Galactica had possessed for more than 40 years. But this time would come to an end on this very day. A big decommission ceremony was planned, a superficially respectful appearing shindig. But for O'Neill it felt like dismissal.

Sure, some big brass secretary had announced his or her presence and surely there would be some lengthy speech and maybe even a buffet. But in the end, even this 'festivity' couldn't hide the fact that the bureaucrats in the council were eager to close the cause Galactica once and for all. For them, the battle worn ship was no sign of strength and will, but a troublesome remnant of a brutal past that didn't fit well with the desired holier than thou policy. Today's society was tired of listening to decades old stories about the dark hours of war and especially about how they'd barely dodged complete annihilation by the Cylons. What counted was no longer retrospection and caution, but career advancement, the newest technical doohickey and fun. And he could understand it to some extent, really. Bloody and almost overwrought heroic stories about pilots flying willingly into death for their loved ones. It reminded him about those boring legends about Zeus, Apollo on all those other godly guys that he had to suffer through in school. Who wants to hear something like that again, again and again? Especially when you're twenty something and the furthest thing from your mind is war. Galactica was like a dinosaur and dinosaurs belonged in the past. That's the way the cookie crumbles.  
But still, it just felt wrong to ignore and deny anything blindly that didn't fit into this new and shiny polished worldview.

The eggheads at the capitol had even rationalized the annual risk analysis of Cylon activity. Superficially, those measures of retrenchment looked good on the budgets, but politicians who were responsible for the security of not less than 12 planets should think further than to the next election. Just because they had heard nothing about the screw heads for years, didn't mean that they weren't lurking somewhere. Many would stamp him as simply paranoid, but O'Neill preferred to be rather save than sorry. The Cylons were still dangerous and what made them even more menacing was the fact that they knew next to nothing about them and their activities. All of their data was decades old. What kind of policy was that? You had to know your enemy, troop strength, tactics, technical capabilities and most of all, possible goals. But this let's-bury-our-heads-in-the-sandy-sand-tactic was nuts.

Instead of sitting back and relaxing in apparent safety, they should do their utmost to strengthen their defenses and gather information about the Cylons. What's the use of a brand new, ultra modern flagship when no one knew how to use it? Their politicians were naïve. The colonies hadn't acknowledged that a war was possible for years. Most of the fleet was shiny new, but tactically untrained. If the moment ever came, this combination would be their downfall.

But it was pointless to wrack his brain. No one was listening to him, anyway. The political and military course for the next decades was set and approved. In a few hours, Galactica would face her boring future as a dusty museum and her crew would scatter in all directions. It was the end of a great chapter of colonial history, despite the war and its consequences. Jack was no sappy guy, but he would miss the old lady.

Although he was no stranger to the feeling of parting, it didn't belong to his usual range of emotions. Rather than letting worry and sadness rule him, he preferred to see new situations as challenges. But today, this strategy didn't really work. It was not just this frakking goodbye party for a ship that had been his home for almost five years now. What had him thinking was more like a dark anticipation. He couldn't put it into words. Something gnawed at him violently, making him wish that this day was already over.

Beside him, Helo and Starbuck had settled their dispute and reached a dubious truce. Although, knowing Thrace, she probably saw herself as clear winner. Her triumphant grin proved this assumption. Helo wisely refrained from responding to her comradely provocation and instead garnered his playing cards that lay scattered on the floor. When he was finished, they continued their little game of triad.

The next rounds were filled with appraising eyes, meaningless insinuations and jokes. Marcia Case had already said goodbye to the game and watched the rest of the players with the relaxed face of someone who was glad to have copped out before losing half her salary. Starbuck and Helo still fought some kind of personal vendetta and outdid each other with stakes. This was a thing between the two of them and Jack was willing to stay out of this fight.

Their job was dangerous. They were pushed towards and over their limits every day and Galactica's crew had to function like a well oiled machine to master the challenges. As CAG, it was O'Neill's job that the flying squadrons could keep up. And more than that, he wanted his men and women to be the ones that set the pace. They were the best and they led the way. Therefore, it was good that they challenged each other regularly. It prevented them from being satisfied and lazy. And due to close quarters, it was impossible to leave those productive rivalry inside the Viper cockpit. It also spread onto a personal level and as long as the tension didn't escalate into fistfights, Jack wasn't going to interfere with this special kind of stress relief. Admittedly, Starbuck was in need of a bit more supervision than others, but at the moment it seemed that she kept her temper in check

Across the table, O'Neill's and Shannon Valerii's eyes met and they agreed mutely, to exit the game. Kara and Agathorn could work this out between them. Both officers popped their cards on the table and no one was more surprised than Starbuck herself, that Helo actually won the game. The young man threw his hand in the air and cheered boisterously, while his adversary eyed the cards incredulously.

"Woohoo! Take that, Kara!" Agathon cried and then furrowed his brows ruefully as he noticed something else. "Oh damn, why didn't we bet on something?"  
While the two other women at the table rolled her eyes, Jack hid a wide grin behind the back of his hand. He felt Agathron's regret. Starbuck could be unbearably self confident and downright arrogant, but she had every reason to be. Not only was she one of the best pilots onboard, maybe even in the whole fleet, but also a damn good triad player. Normally, it was just not possible to beat her. Playing with her was like a hara-kiri to your wallet. Defeating Starbuck in something was about as likely as the Caprica Buccaneers* winning the final against the Tauron Wild Springs*. Too good to be true. So it was understandable that Helo mourned the opportunity to relieve her of some cash.

"Shut up, Helo. I want a rematch!" Thrace countered and immediately began to shuffle the cards vigorously. Apparently she had the strong urge to restore her good reputation as bad ass card player. Agathorn shrugged his shoulders and tried to appear generously.  
"Why not? I'm a nice guy. After all, it must be hard for you to lose. Not used to that, huh?"  
Kara stared at him with twinkling eyes as she planned her counter attack.  
"No, I'm not used to losing. Contrary to others on this table who are very well versed in being second best. Right, Helo?"  
One had to give Helo credits for his great deal of self control. Starbuck could be a real bitch right up to hurting those around her. She was the master of finding and hitting other's sore spots. Maybe exactly that made her the great pilot that she was. But instead of accepting her provocation, Helo kept an unimpressed face.  
"Stop talking Trace and gimme my cards."

In a matter of seconds, the pilots were back to bluffing and haggling. When they played cards, O'Neill was much less aggressive or ambitious than his younger colleagues. But he rejected the idea that his advanced age was the reason for that. Rather than that, he wanted to believe that he was so much more experienced than them. It was simply no longer necessary for him to prove himself. He already knew himself, what he could do and what not. Their weekly games were not about simply winning or proving that he was still the boss. He didn't feel that he had to defend his superiority in front of them. He was their immediate superior, their CAG, the direct link between the pilots and the highly respected, almost worshipped, Commander Adama. Although Jack enjoyed his work and his rank, he was not the typical officer.

He could do very well without scaring off the junior officers. He didn't want them to think that their opinions didn't matter. He wasn't their enemy and he was not only their CO, but also their mentor. Someone they would follow willingly because they trusted his judgment and not, because they feared being charged with insubordination. He wanted to be one of them, not someone who was untouchable. O'Neill tried very hard to form a team. Every pilot was an egoistic and smug individual. They all thought that they were invulnerable. They needed this kind of exaggerated self confidence, or else they'd die of fear. His job was to lead by good example and show them the benefits of teamwork. The military academies produced lone wolfes, he changed them into a pack. To do this, he preferred the achievement of mutual goals over strict superiority. He led them with guiding authority rather than and squeezing them into an antiquated pecking order.

Of course, he also didn't accept disrespect of any kind, but a little bit of fun or a sarcastic comment here and there was allowed. After all, they spend lots of time in the confined space of this ship with no one else but your buddies as distraction. So, humor was essential to prevent them from going crazy.

Boomer's relaxed tone as she spoke to him a little sloppy was proof, that Jack had managed to convey this team spirit to his people.  
"So Boss, out with it, where are they sending you?"  
Four pairs of curious eyes met him when he peered over his cards. As soon as it was clear that Commander Adama had no more favors to call in to prevent the disarmament of Battlestar Galactica, Fleet Command had started to transfer the crew to other ships. By now, everyone had received new orders. But O'Neill had avoided this issue thus far.

On one hand, It really made no difference where they would send him. No ship, no Commander and certainly no crew could hold a candle to Battlestar Galactica. He was loyal like that. On the other hand, he simply really didn't want to deal with it. The dismantling felt personal somehow. Like it was not just the technology that was regarded outdated, but the crew too. He knew he had a little problem with suppressing stuff, feelings most of all, but Jack still refused to think about his new orders until the time was up. Now, there was probably no more need for that, because within the next 24 hours the live he'd lived for the last five years would finally be over.

"Pegasus." Was his cryptic response. He was waiting for their reactions and his young officers did not disappoint him. Starbuck literally dropped her jaw and her face shone with pure envy. Valerii and Case gave him the thumps up and Helo applauded appreciatively.  
"Not bad, CAG. Battlestar Pegasus, the fleet's new flagship, commanded by the great Admiral Cain. Not bad at all." He praised effusively and then turned quite sincere when he held out his hand to congratulate. "Congratulations, Sir. Honestly. That's great. You've earned it."

O'Neill accepted the outstretched hand and tried to cover the sentimentality the young man's sincere joy caused with a humorous comment.  
"Pfft…no biggie. A job like any other."  
Helo wanted to disagree, but Jack's ego was saved by Starbuck's harsh interruption.  
"Are you boys finished pampering each other? Let's play already! Mama needs a new pair of boxing gloves and I intent to buy it with your money."

Jack gave her a grateful look. He hated praise and he didn't need it. It was embarrassing, plus he knew damn well what he was good at and what not. Thrace knew that because she knew him an vice versa. No wonder, considering that Jack had been her instructor and that they regularly flew patrol together. She was his wingman…woman…whatever. What he wanted to say was, they were close. She was like the little sister he never had. He felt responsible for her, even if she was regularly driving him to desperation with her cocky attitude.

For the next few minutes, the pilots concentrated on their game and no other words were uttered than 'I raise by five' or 'I wanna see'. This particularly round dragged on and on and on because no one wanted to quit. Or maybe they simply knew that this was their last card came and wanted to prolong it as much as possible. Ironically, it was Starbuck who interrupted the focused silence.  
She hid her head behind the cards in her hand and whispered conspiratorially.  
"Enemy contact at 6 o'clock. I repeat, empty bottle of rum advancing."  
Although O'Neill sat with his back to the door, he didn't have to turn around to know who this 'empty bottle of rum' was. This code was universally understood throughout the whole ship.

It was Colonel Saul Tigh, Galactica's XO. The man was tall, thin and almost bald. He was one of the oldest officers on board and considered part of the inventory. Cynics suggested that the only thing that kept him in service was his friendship with Adama. The old man, as the Commander was called lovingly from his men and women, stuck with his old friend. Although it was often difficult to understand why. Even Adama must have noticed that Tigh had a serious drinking problem. The whole ship knew. The result was that Tigh's orders were often openly doubted, prompting the Colonel to make up for that with ridiculously overblown authority. More and more crewmen asked why they should follow the orders of a guy that was drunken all of the time. Starbuck was the best example. The colonel's exaggerated arrogance, mixed with the knowledge that the man was hardly a role model of discipline, didn't get along well with Kara's naturally rebellious attitude. Just like last week. Jack had been moving heaven and earth to get his best pilot out of the brig because she'd threatened Tigh to put a control stick up his…well, where the sun didn't shine.

O'Neill himself didn't suffer under Tigh's antics like the rest of the crew, because his position as CAG came with a decent amount of autonomy among the chain of command. He and he alone was responsible for everything that could fly and no one meddled with him, well, except maybe the Commander. Tigh knew this and was smart enough not to try to boss him around. Still, the two men didn't like each other. But over the years of serving with each other they had agreed to some kind of non-aggression pact. Actually, Jack felt more pity towards him than anger. It was well known that Tigh was punished with a wife that used every opportunity to embarrass and cuckold him. It was a real shame, considered that Tigh was a veteran of the last Cylon War. They owed men like him a big deal. Pilots like Tigh and Adama had sacrificed a lot to save their worlds from destruction.

Tigh's presence finally made itself known through the gaunt shadow his body threw at the table.  
"Good morning in the morning, Colonel Tigh, Sir. How are you today and how is your beloved wife?" Starbuck asked too sweetly while grinning broadly. Jack stared at her with a quiet warning, leaving no doubt whether he would tolerate such a behavior or not. Tigh was hardly an officer and gentleman, but he was still a Colonel and XO of the ship. One didn't have to appreciate Tigh personally, but his rank and post still deserved utmost respect. Jack expected that much from his people.

Starbuck understood immediately, though extremely reluctantly, and lifted her hands in an apology. Jack turned towards the older man with an expressionless face, even when he saw that Tigh's uniform jacket was buttoned up wrong.  
"Can I help you, Colonel?"  
"Yes, you can." Tigh answered in his typical growl and gripped the backrest of O'Neill's chair to steady himself. The smell of stale sweat poured out of him and Jack guessed that his breakfast had consisted of one or two drinks.  
"The GDD just contacted us. They've caught two of that damn terrorists again and want to get rid of them a-sap. They requested one of our Raptors to take the two bastards to Astral Queen."  
"Why can't one of their agents do that?" Jack wanted to know and casually took a new card while Helo thoroughly scrutinized firstly his cards and then Starbuck's game face, concluding that he had already lost and throwing his cards frustrated on the table. So, it was just O'Neill and Thrace left in the game. What a finish!  
"They're all busy with preparations for the Pyramid Final. Guess they can spare no one." Tigh stated and grimaced.

His reasoning seemed plausible. This weekend, the 12 Colonies celebrated the Apollo days and the highlight of said festival was this year's Pyramid Final. The Caprica Buccaneers, the local heroes, played against their longtime rivals from Tauron. Due to the fierce rivalry, all worlds were exited and sympathies for the teams had divided the sports-mad population into two sets of fans. The betting odds clearly saw the Tauron Wild Wings as winner, but wonders never cease. Every game began 0-0 and had to be played.

Of course O'Neill was not very happy about the prospect of flying to Caprica now. Whoever had to play taxi, would almost certainly miss the game. But the GDD had made an official request for help and so they had to react immediately. Now, one would think that a CAG could pass this pesky assignment on to some of his pilots. But as fate would have it, today's decommission ceremony featured a pompous air show and the last training started soon. Jack had planned the duty roaster himself and therefore knew that there were only two pilots that could fly a Raptor and weren't included in the show. Ironically, both of said pilots sat at this table, opposite each other.

Jack himself had been supposed to lead the show. But a few days ago someone at the ministry had decided that it was a wonderful idea to fly in the Commander's son, Lt. Lee Adama, so he could do his father the compliment of leading the squadron. Thus, Jack was out of the show and could watch the spectacle together with the political and military bigwigs. Starbuck lost her place in the squadron as a disciplinary action. Tigh had insisted on punishing her for the rude stick-pushing-comment and the Commander excluded her from the ceremony, knowing full and well that this was not a very big problem for Thrace. The old man was quite keen on Kara. Despite her blunt behavior, there was something about her that caused a crazy duality. Either you liked her, or you wanted to hit her.

So, it was him or her. But how to decide? O'Neill concluded, that it was only fitting to let the cards decide.

"Okay, Thrace, lemme see what you've got."  
Jack laid his cards at the table. Starbuck's face remained perfectly expressionless until she, too, showed her cards. But then she immediately broke into a spontaneous dance of joy while O'Neill groaned. Boomer and Showboat mimicked his reaction, Helo muttered something that sounded like 'Lucky sod'. The blonde poison, as Starbuck was called among the crew, had won.

Of course, he was still CAG and if he ordered Kara to go, there was not much she could do about it. But a true CAG honors his debts, especially gambling debts. He straightened in resignation and gave Tigh one of his patented sloppy salutes.  
"Consider it done."

* * *

*Triad=popular card game; similar to poker  
*Caprica Buccaneers and Tauron Wild Springs=the two most popular Pyramid teams


	5. Chapter 5

Next chapter, thanks for the reviews. Hope you'll like this chapter too. Have a nice weekend.

* * *

Chapter 5: Raptors and Goldwings

A prison was a prison and even if the design was different on every planet, there was always one constant. Bars. Why did it always have to be bars? A universe full of bars, that would be worth a little research and an essay, Daniel mused and was reminded of the fact, that it was very possible that he'd never get the chance to publish a paper again. Because he could be dead soon. Executed as a terrorist on a planet whose name he didn't recognize and even worse, a planet his friends at the SGC didn't know of. It seemed, that no one would come to the rescue this time. This could really be the end. But he fought against this certainty. After all, they were still SG-1, albeit only one half of it. They just needed a masterstroke, a sudden inspiration, a flash of genius. Whatever, but they had to hurry.

He grabbed the bars and watched their guard. The man hadn't moved for some time now. He sat behind his desk, staring at a screen –a TV?- embedded in the wall. He was totally focused on some sports program. Well trained men and women with all kinds of protective clothing, throwing a little ball around and aiming at a small hole. That was culturally interesting, too. Every planet, every culture he'd ever visited had a, sometimes highly ritualized, ball game. Daniel had never been interested in sports. Neither in participating nor in watching, but the excitement some people could muster for this pastime still astonished him.

The similarities between his home and this planet still baffled him, but Daniel had decided that it was best to ignore it for now and instead concentrate on coming upon a way out. Jack had always advised them to know your enemy, to gather useful information and planning a counteraction based on said knowledge. But since their guard refused to even acknowledge their presence, he was forced to use other sources. He had tried to learn something from the commercials on the TV-like screen. But ironically, it was like watching television at home. Attractive people advertising drinks in elegant glass bottles. Children dragging their parents through a toy store. Dogs eating their dog food with gusto and a suit clad man in his huge car conquering the pitfalls of morning traffic. This similarity was just so damn confusing, that it was hard to ignore.

When he realized that he couldn't learn anything useful from the television program, he turned away and sat down on the bench beside Sam. If his sense of time was right, they were waiting for almost an hour now. Since they'd been thrown into the cell, Sam had not moved. She was thinking hard, focusing on her thoughts entirely. After so many years of friendship, he recognized if she was lost in thought.

He felt the same. The same questions haunted him, too. Where are we? Why are we here? Why did the Gate malfunction? Are Mitchell and Meyers okay? Is someone coming for us? Are there clues of our whereabouts? How can we prove our innocence? What is this ominous Astral Queen and why are they sending us to a place called Libran? And most importantly, how can we escape death penalty? So many questions and no answers.

Sam and Daniel had spent the first 45 minutes discussing exactly that, but so far they hadn't found a solution. And while they were stuck in here, no one was speaking to them. There was generally no one they could talk to, not even a lawyer. Maybe their only option was to wait and play along. Being cooperative and hoping for a chance to get rid of the terrorism accusation. Or to flee. But where to?

In his head, thoughts whirled fruitlessly in circles. Daniel decided to talk to Sam again. She was highly intelligent and he knew that her mind was running at full speed. Their biggest advantage was her tactical insight, an insight that he couldn't muster, even after long years of working with the military. If anyone could come up with a conclusion right now and in this messy situation, it was her and not him. But then the guard suddenly moved as the sports program was replaced by some sort of alert.

The guard cursed because he missed the team's next move and cleared his throat before he answered.  
"This is Walch on level 8, what's up?" he mumbled into the air. Apparently there was some sort of invisible intercom system.  
"Hi Ely, the taxi for the prisoners is here. The pilot says to hurry up. He wants to make it to the last quarter." Answered a crackling voice out of nowhere.

Sam and Daniel looked at each other alarmed. This could only be about them. This adventure was turning quickly from an initially misunderstanding to a serious disaster for them. They would be carted away and the trace about their whereabouts would blur more and more. Even if someone came looking for them, this relocation made it almost impossible for their friends and colleagues to take up their trail again. Time was running out for them.

"Okay. They're coming up now." The guard answered. He rose cumbersome and came over to their cell. He was armed. While he opened the bars, his right hand rested threateningly on the gun. Always ready to use it, if they gave him any reason.

But Cater and Jackson wouldn't try anything. They definitely didn't want to be transferred, but provoking a fight wasn't wise, too. As the guard led them through a narrow corridor, they realized again how small their chances for escape were. The hallway was shaped like an A, broad at the floor and acuminated at the ceiling. Sam and Daniel had to walk one after another, because there was not enough space to walk next to each other. So, not nearly enough elbow room to subdue their guard. Or to dodge his bullets. And even if, where to run? They didn't even know if they were still in the same building, in the headquarters of this Global Defense Department.

The guard urgently pushed them towards the open doors of an elevator at the end of the hallway. The man didn't get in the car with them. He simply nodded at them wordlessly, pressed a button outside the elevator and the doors closed automatically. Sam and Daniel noticed that there was no type of display in the car. Apparently, it was operated only from the outside. It was more like a freight elevator, exclusively for the transport of prisoners.

"I've got a bad feeling about this." Daniel said as the car started to move upstairs. Sam sighed, she felt the same.  
"I don't see a way out." She summarized her thoughts.  
Jackson rubbed his tired eyes. Their hands were tied, but in front of them so they had at least some minimal freedom of movement. By now, they both were on the road for more than 20 hours. If everything would've gone smoothly, they would be sitting over coffee in the commissary by now. But it turned out completely different.  
"Me neither."  
Both held their breath as the elevator stilled and the doors opened slowly. They had no idea what to expect now.

A cool breeze greeted them as soon as the doors opened. Two other guards were already waiting for them, putting heavy hands onto their shoulders and pushing their prisoners forward. They were on the roof of a medium height building, which explained the cold air. While Carter and Jackson were led away, their gazes drifted into the distance. If this was still the Global Defense Department, the building was higher that it looked from street. Although it was by no means one of the tallest around, the view was still revealing.

The city was huge. Daniel had once stood on the observation deck of New York's Rockefeller center and had been impressed by the sheer size of the city. But this topped it all. The city was so huge, that Daniel had to squint his eyes the see the end of it and even then he wasn't so sure that he really could detect the city limit, or if it just was the end of his eyesight. And the skyscrapers were high. He cocked his head back and looked up. In front of him arose an elegant tower, it's spire ending somewhere between the milky clouds. On the streets, cars bustled along like ants on an anthill. Brown city blocks alternated with large green areas, little parks and gardens. Whoever had planned this city, had apparently considered the residents need for recreational areas. It displayed a very good understanding of human needs.

But then something entirely astounding caught both of their attentions. Openmouthed, they stared fascinated into the blue sky. There was not just heavy traffic on the streets, but also in the air. Dozens, no hundreds, of flying objects whizzed overhead. The differently shaped means of transportation flew quietly through the clouds, their paths crossing on invisible routes only the pilots knew.

"My god, do you know what that means?" Daniel whispered and his guard had to push him on, because he stood still, astonishment apparent on his face.  
"I know. It's unbelievable." Confirmed Sam beside him.  
It was the first time that they'd seen professional passenger traffic in the sky. Never, in almost 10 years of travelling through the Gate, had they met a planet this advanced. Sure, many races had spaceships. But those were mostly for military matters, like troop transports. But such a routinely traffic, it really looked like normal traffic on the roads, they'd never observed before.

It seemed that this people were far more technically advanced that Earth. Eventually, Earth would implement some kind of traffic in the skies too, but it would take them many, many years to do so. But here, it was already standardized.

And even though Sam knew that Daniel and she were about to be condemned to death, she caught herself hoping that they would get the chance to see one of those flying cars from the inside. It fascinated her, woke her interest and curiosity. She'd really like to get her fingers on one of those things, relish taking it apart and understanding how it worked. For such a baby, she'd even take all of her build-up vacation time. And much to her joy, it looked like she'd get her wish.

The two guards grabbed their two prisoners by the shoulders, holding Daniel and Sam in a waiting position. They stood in front of large, octagonal platform looking like a helipad. Again, they stared into the sky. At first, it as just a dot in the distance announcing the arrival of their taxi with a loud roar and the wind of it's engines. Then the dot grew bigger. And bigger. Until they finally stared at the belly of one of those flying machines. It was colored in a metallic grey and the whole size was revealed when the pilot landed the aircraft gently on the platform.

It was about the size of a puddlejumper, but the design was completely different. While the ancient aircraft looked rather clunky and bulky, this one was elegant in it's form. It reminded her of a transport helicopter, a Boeing Apache, but more aerodynamic. Two elegant wings spread at the sides and two stretched up at the rear like spoilers on a race gar. The color was a metallic green, a typical military color. The lateral hatches indicated that this was indeed a military vessel. She'd bet her lunch that these were launch tubes for missiles. Not to mention that Sam had already recognized from the sound of the engine how much power this thing had. She was so sure, that this baby was capable of space flight. Design and the size of the engine supported her conclusion.

Though the tinted windows of the front cockpit, they could see the back of the pilot as he moved around. When the vessel's large side door opened with a hydraulic whoosh, the guards clutched their shoulders even harder, as if they feared that their prisoners would try to escape. One could only wonder, where to? Jump off the roof? Most likely not. Over the years SG-1 had pulled a lot of spectaculars stunts, but contrary to popular beliefs, no one of them was superman. Side by side, Sam and Daniel waited intently to be loaded into the transporter.

The doors of the aircraft opened completely and the pilot jumped lithely first on a wing and then on the platform. He removed his dark aviator sunglasses with an aura practically oozing coolness and nodded casually at the two guards.

Sam and Daniel eyed the pilot from head to toes. When they'd both finished their examinations, Jackson's mouth hung open wide and Carter felt like someone pulled the rug from under her feet. Her heart beat faster and she could hear the blood roaring in her ears. She found it literally hard to believe what her eyes saw. Because right in front of her, dressed in a dark green flight suit and looking very much alive, stood Jack O'Neill.

At first they thought that it was a fata morgana, a hallucination or the unbelievable possibility that there was a guy running around here and looking confusedly similar like their former CO. Her mind struggled against what she knew as final and factual. Jack O'Neill was dead, she'd been forced to see him die herself. And yet, it was him, something inside her told her so. He was standing right there, almost close enough to touch, radiating the almost painfully familiar charisma of complete sovereignty.

They were both too shocked to say something. Instead, they marveled at the presence of the man in front of them and followed his every movement. Searching for a hint that this was a trick.  
"Sooo, what do we have here?" he asked the guards and the familiar sarcasm in his voice almost brought tears in Sam's eyes. These last months, she'd given up denying towards herself and her friends, how much she missed him. Above all, his humor. This cocky mix of mischievous rebellion and sharp tongued cynicism. As bad as most of his jokes had been, she'd always found something in them that amused her. She'd always been able to smile, even if she was the only one to do so. Simply because she knew that he did it for them, to cheer them up, not caring that he appeared foolish doing so.

If the guards or the O'Neill double noticed their undisguised perplexity, they did a damn good job of hiding it. The armed man behind Daniel made a disdainfully grunting sound in his throat as he shoved him unceremoniously forward.  
"Terror suspects for the Astral Queen. Those assholes have been hiding in the museum in Delphi the whole night." One of the guards summed up his point of view.  
Daniel and Sam could practically see how the previously unbiased mood of the pilot changed into something else. He grimaced and small wrinkles appeared at his eyes, surely no laugh lines, that was for sure.  
"Frak those terrorists." The Jack-look-alike shot them both a pejorative glance and almost looked as if he wanted to spit at them.

Jackson and Carter swallowed hard. They'd often succeeded in infuriating the Colonel and later General until he cursed, groused or pitied himself, but never had he punished them with such contemptuous eyes. It was a bad sign for the two members of SG-1. So far, they'd met no one who was willing to believe in their innocence, let alone really listen to them. Although they had no clue how it was even possible that their dead friend was standing in front of them, even if Sam already suspected something, it was worth a try to gain this man's trust. He was not a pleasant face, but at least one that they recognized. But if he was already dead set about hating them and if he did not just look and sound like their O'Neill, but was as stubborn too, it would be almost impossible to convince him otherwise.

At least, there was a little, tiny ray of hope. When the guards pushed their prisoners roughly through the hatch of the aircraft, the tall pilot felt the need to intervene.  
"Hey, take it easy! Terrorists or not, but I certainly won't deliver them hurt. Got it?" he admonished the guards. Those rolled their eyes, but didn't dare to contradict. Not really friendly, but also not hazarding any injuries, they helped Carter and Jackson inside the aircraft.

One could see at a glance that this thing was not made for passenger transport, but clearly a military vessel. Specialized in recon, if Sam guessed right. The interior was as spartan as possible so that most of the space could be used for all kinds of technical equipment. The front housed two seats and the control console, similar to the puddlejumper. Two big screens were mounted right and left of the pilot's seats. The heck, where Sam and Daniel were forced to sit down on the floor, featured even more screens, including a metal operating desk with a keyboard and a chair in front of it. Sam had seen similar layout in recon aircrafts. There was enough space for two pilots and at least one radar officer, depending on the task.

While guard number one threw them one last gloomy look before disappearing from their field of view, guard two remained standing beside the pilot, handing over not just the suspects but also the keys to their handcuffs. The O'Neill double put the key in his right breast pocket.  
"So, they almost belong to you." Began the guard and held a number pad out to the tall pilot.  
"I just have to confirm that you are who you're supposed to be. Takes a few seconds, then you can zoom off."

Cater and Jackson looked at each other fleetingly and then focused on the two men in front of the hatch. With a little bit of luck, they would get to know if the pilot's name was Jack O'Neill too, and if it really was, there was no doubt about what had happened to them. The pilot typed a code on the pad and gave it back to the guard. It took maybe three, four seconds before the armed man nodded.  
"Congratulations, you really are Major Jonathan O'Neill."  
"With two L's, just so you know." Stressed this O'Neill the special variation in his name while he signed an electronic document.

The two men exchanged a few more words, but the prisoners completely missed the point. Once the name was confirmed, it felt as if lightings raged in their brains. Their minds tried to process what they had heard and what was certainty, a fact that they couldn't deny any longer. The pilot was Jack O'Neill, but not their Jack O'Neill. Not from their universe. Daniel let his head fall against the wall beside him and pressed his cuffed hands on his temples. SG-1 had done it again! Due to some crazy anomaly, they had ended up in another universe. And as cruel fate would have it, of course they had to encounter none other that the doppelganger of their deceased leader, friend and mentor. The man whose loss had hit them like a tornado and left them in a depressing state of mind where nothing made sense anymore. It was torture to see him here. Seeing that he was alive, but at the same time knowing that he was just not the Jack O'Neill they knew as friend and so much more. The loss was still there and the other O'Neill's presence emphasized it even more. These were Daniels thoughts, Carter's feelings were not as hopeless.

She forced herself to look at him as he said goodbye to the guards and climbed into the aircraft. The hatch automatically closed and they were alone with him. When he walked wordlessly past them, her eyes found something glittering on his uniform. A pair of golden wings were pinned over his left breast pocket. This reality's version of a pilot's goldwings. This detail released an unknown reservoir of assurance in her. It calmed and filled her with the confidence that this O'Neill, despite his open dislike of them, could help. Over the years, they had met a few doubles from other realities. There had always been differences, but also many parallels. This O'Neill was a pilot too. Someone that climbed into a military aircraft to protect something that was worth protecting for him, without considering his own health. She refused to think that someone who was noble like that, would completely rule out the possibility that they were indeed not guilty.

"Ground Control, this is Galactica Raptor 13-2. Do I have permission to take off?" They heard Major O'Neill ask. Over the seat's backrest, they could only see part of his back and head.  
"Here is Caprica ground control to Galactica Raptor 13-2. You've got permission to take off. Your route is transmitted to your interface. We wish you a good flight." Answered a voice whose owner they would never meet.

Carter sought out Daniel's attention. When he finally met her eyes, she tried to give him some of her confidence. He recognized her intent, smiled and shrugged as the aircraft gently took off. His eyes seemed to say, 'We'll get through this, after all, we're SG-1, the original'. Sam could only agree with him, believing that they would find a solution. But if she would have possessed the ability to see into the future, she would know by now that it had to get a lot worse, before it could get better.


	6. Chapter 6

Hi guys, next chapter, this time a long one.

A/N:

Like I forewarned in the A/N of the first chapter, it finally happened and I made a mistake. Thanks to the rewiever who flagged it for me! In the last chapter, I used the term 'puddlejumper' to describe the Raptor. This was not intended and it has no deeper meaning for the story. I've simply searched for something to compare the design of the Colonial aircrafts with the ones we know from the Stargate universe and I simply forgot, that the term 'puddlejumper' was introduced in the Atlantis Spin-off through Sheppard. So, because neither Daniel nor Sam have been with the Atlantis Expedition, they couldn't have known about the term puddlejumper. Like I said, it was just a mistake of mine and no secret/hidden hint, so there is no need to speculate about it.

For those who saw the Battlestar Galactica series to the bitter end, (the finale was disappointing if you ask me, just like the LOST finale) I want to note that my story covered up what happens in the Pilot/mini-series. I plan to continue the story and write about what happens in the single seasons. Kinda like a rewrite of Battlestar Galactica with our heroes of Stargate as leading characters. I don't know exactly how it will all play out, but I'm already pretty sure that there will be changes in the plot. So I just want to point out, that I don't plan to chose a similar end like the authors of Battlestar Galactica did.

In that regard, maybe you already suspect something like this, I want to say that there will be absolutely no time travel. No one traveled through time, not even by accident and somehow miraculously forgetting about it. There are different reasons why Sam, Daniel and Colonial Jack meet in the Battlestar Galactica universe. But those will be revealed much, much, much later and not in this story.

About all the other questions or speculations you might have about the content of this story, those are intended. If you feel a little bit confused, because what seemed to have happened to Daniel and Sam doesn't make sense to you, you're supposed to feel that way. Why? Because Sam and Daniel also don't understand what happened to them. They're confused, tired, they don't know where they are or how they got there. In addition, they face potential execution as terrorists and don't have a clue how they could refute the accusations. Plus, they come to realize that their friends at the SGC may not come to help this time, or if they do, it might be too late for them.

So, I guess these are pretty good reasons to feel confused. On top of that, they'll have to face another big threat in this chapter. Combining all those reasons, they simply have no time to really think about what happened to them because they're busy trying to stay alive. For them, there is no other choice as to keep going on and hoping to catch a break sometime soon.

That being said, I hope that you'll like this chapter, that you review if you do and most of all, that you still like this story despite all those confusing questions.

Have a nice weekend everyone!

* * *

Chapter 6: Caprica is burning

He looked good, she decided after a thorough survey. Of course, he'd always looked good for her. Even when the grey hair slowly but surely turned white and he put on a few more pounds due to his desk job. But she was somewhat biased concerning his looks. She would've probably still found him attractive even with a curly tail.

But this O'Neill, wow, looked really good. Much younger that the version in her reality. She estimated his age at 40, maybe even younger. No strands of grey in his hair, instead, his thick dark brown hair was cut short in a military style. And he looked healthy. No trace of painfully joints or bad knees when he'd jumped down from the Raptor. His body was fit and toned, possibly more muscled that the Colonel and later General. But with the baggy flying suit, it was hard to tell. Also, no deep wrinkles and no scar above the eye. Although that was almost a disappointment, albeit a small one, considering that this was the wrong time, wrong place and certainly wrong universe to contemplate his looks. But she'd always loved the scar. It gave him a dangerous and at the same time roguish appeal. A combination that had always drawn her to him.

He looked good enough to eat and Sam had to admit, that it distracted her. Daniel of course, had other problems. He wondered less about this O'Neill's obvious youth, it was their overall situation that concerned him.  
"Different reality?" he whispered, as not to be overheard by the pilot.  
"I'd say so. The evidence is fairly clear, right?"  
Daniel nodded thoughtfully. The existence of a Jack O'Neill eliminated every other assumption. Yet, the question why they clearly weren't on Earth remained unresolved. During their previous trips and encounters with other realities, the location had always been their own planet. But actually, they knew far too little about this phenomenon to be able to say with certainty that appearing on your own planet was the general rule. Besides, they had more pressing problems.

For example, how they could avoid being executed as terrorists. Daniel knew that their basis for negotiation was very bad. They had no means to prove their innocence. The only possibility that remained, was hoping for some sudden development working in their favor. Or they could try to talk to this O'Neill, maybe even convince him of their trustworthiness. But Daniel felt that this would be very difficult. The pilot had yet to acknowledge their presence in his aircraft.

They had no ideal how much time was left before Jack delivered them to the Astral Queen, whatever that was. Possible, that they wouldn't get a chance to break his disdain for them.  
"What do you think of him?" he wanted to know about Sam's option of the Jack doppelganger. Not just what she said, but also what she wouldn't say, so he watched her closely. It had not escaped him, how she stared at the other man. If he didn't knew that Sam was a model of professionalism, he would say that she watched this O'Neill with blatant interest. Like a woman sizing a man up, as Cassie would probably say now. It was no secret to him that Sam and Jack had always harbored strong feelings for each other, even though they didn't really understand the intensity of said feelings themselves. Still, there had been something between them with great potential. But unfortunately, they'd never been given the chance to explore what was smoldering between them.

He had also noticed how hard it was for Sam to get over Jack's death. Everyone of his friends and colleagues had mourned the loss deeply, after all he'd been a large and important part of their lives. Daniel regretted that Jack had never realized how important he was, almost essential. Not just for the Stargate progamm itself, more so for the people he worked with. He'd been their tower of strength, nothing less. And it had hit Sam particularly hard. She had not only mourned the man himself, but also what could have been, if they'd just been a little more courageous. Since that terrible day, she wasn't the same anymore. Her work was still exemplary, but somehow, it was as if all passion had left her. Her joy, fun and curiosity was lost and those last weeks, Daniel gained the impression that she was quietly saying goodbye to the SGC.

When the next blow hit her with loosing her leading position in Atlantis to Weir before she'd been sitting even a minute in the boss's chair, it seemed like she'd finally given up. But right now, the way she looked at this Jack, Daniel thought he recognized something familiar in her clever eyes. Her usual inexhaustible thirst for knowledge, maybe. It felt strangely good to this Jack again, even if he was aware that this was not their Jack. He just hoped that Sam would not let her feelings distract her. They needed her sharp mind.

Sam coked her head to the side before she answered him with a whisper. "It's Jack." She finally said and Jackson could not help but shoot her a puzzled look. It was rare to hear her call him by his first name. Besides, a somewhat more detailed answer would have been nice. But it seemed that for now, he had to work with her minimalistic words.  
"We need to keep in mind that we don't know him. Not really. He's not our Jack, Sam. We don't know if we can trust him." He tried to point out, but she was not deterred.  
"We can trust him." Daniel sighed, she was so stubborn sometimes.  
"How can you know?" He asked, raising his cuffed hands and stopping her from speaking as she opened her mouth to reply. "I know, I know. Because he's Jack, right?"  
"Think positive, Daniel." She recommended to him and he rolled his eyes.  
"Yeah. Like I have another choice."  
She gave him a look as if she wanted to prove something to him, then turned her head towards the cockpit.

This time, however, her attention wasn't on the pilot, but at what was outside the Raptor. Space. She had been right with her assumption. The Raptor was a spaceship. It resembled a more efficient version of the Apache, but flew just as quietly and elegantly as a puddlejumper. It was operated with some kind of touchscreen and it seemed that it was currently on autopilot, because O'Neill was leaning back in his seat. Only now and then did he adjust the course.

The radar right in front of them was out, but the screen next to the seats showed star systems that she didn't recognize. She searched the interior for something else that looked familiar to her. The similarity with recon aircrafts in their own universe was unmistakable. However, she saw no evidence of alien technology. Their own spaceships, the Daedalus for example, was clearly influenced by Asgard, the Ancients or even Goua'uld technology.

With this Raptor, she couldn't detect any foreign influence in technique or design. This realization made her heart beat with excitement, because it could only mean that this people had developed the technology to travel professionally in space all alone. Without the help of foreign species or learning from a far more advanced civilization. This people had managed what would be impossible for many more years in their own universe. They had populated space. It was fascinating and admirable, all those new possibilities. Sam caught herself hoping for something to happen that would give her the opportunity to work with this technique. But that seemed to be wishful thinking. Their destination was a court hearing, not a lab or workshop.

They needed help, desperately. And who was more predestined to be their ally than a Jack O'Neill? She cleared her throat. Moment of truth. Now, it would turn out how many similarities really were between this and their O'Neill.

"Excuse me, Major O'Neill?" Sam began cautiously. She had decided to address him as Major and to call him that in her thoughts. It was dangerous and damn tempting to confuse him with the General. The different rank was her line between this pilot and the man from her memories.  
The pilot didn't respond verbally, but he cocked his head to the side. If this was a silent call to ask her question, she couldn't know. But she tried anyway.  
"How much farther is it?"  
It was an innocuous question and above all one that sounded plausible enough and didn't betray how little they knew about this universe. After all, they wanted to gain his trust, not make him believe that they were crazy.

"'Bout half a centar." His voice was neutral and expressionless. Sam and Daniel didn't understand. What the hell was a centar? A unit of time, most likely. But precisely? One minute, hour, even a day? So much for trying to appear normal and convincing him of their innocence. They couldn't even read the clock.

"You're taking us to the Astral Queen, right?" she tried again. The first blatant similarity with their O'Neill manifested itself in this weird conversation. It was damn hard to get more than a few words out of a O'Neill if he didn't want to. He was the master of taciturnity, apparently in every universe.  
"Yep."  
Beside her, Daniel exhaled a tense breath. "Would've been too good to be true." He muttered, but didn't interfere with her.  
"What kind of ship is it?" She asked and this time received a clear response. The pilot turned to them. Suspicion flashed in his eyes. "Funny that you have to ask. A lot of your buddies are already there. You can celebrate reunion." He growled and Carter recognized the contempt in his words. It was as if a stone sat on her lungs as she tried to keep breathing. She could never get used to Jack O'Neill's disregard, even if this was not the same man.  
"We're not terrorists." She repeated stubbornly, because she hated the thought that he believed they were.

He grunted dismissively. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."  
"You've dealt with terrorists before? Do we look like we would blow up a museum?" she renewed her attempt to engage him in a conversation. They had to get him to deal with them. But he didn't make it easy.  
"You guys never look like you would. It's you tactic. Always appearing nice and unimposing."  
"Will you at least look us in the eyes while you prejudge us!" she demanded, letting her words sound like a challenge. If she knew just one thing about Jack O'Neill, it was the fact that he never recoiled from a confrontation. And he had enough respect even for his enemies, as not to deny them such a simple gesture.

Her demand was successful. He hammered a few commands at the touchscreen and then spun around in his chair. Anger flashed briefly in his dark eyes. Carter couldn't help herself but suspect, that there was more behind his hatred for terrorists than the mere contempt for their attacks.  
"I don't give a frak and I don't care what you tell me. If you are innocent, you can prove it at your hearing and if not…well, then you get what you deserve. A free flight into space."

Daniel sighed heavily. What a great prospect. Execution by suffocation in space. That was the last straw in his already well-filled list of curiosities. He hoped that it was not too late to dodge this. Holding his breath wasn't is strong suit.  
"And now, I don't want to hear anymore of your crap. We're almost there anyway."  
"Please Major, you have to believe us." Sam plead again, but fell on deaf ears as he shook his head and was about to turn away from them.  
"Sir!" she fell back into her old routine, calling him by his honorific and managing to finally reach him. Whether he was just surprised by her exclamation, or whether it was the familiarity with which she said it, it definitely provoked a reaction out of him. A hint of honest regret crossed his face and he opened his mouth to say something, at the same time frowning and wondering why he suddenly felt the need to talk to these people.

The moment was destroyed when the console beeped loudly and changed the display. Instead of an unknown star system, it now showed the outline of some other ship.  
O'Neill started out of the glass cockpit and muttered with a tang of regret in his voice, "Sorry. We're here."  
Daniel hung his head. They tried, but there hadn't been enough time. Maybe it would have worked if there was some kind of invisible connection between them, a bond that stretched between life and death and could surmount time and space. But such strong bonds of friendship existed only in science fiction and as his once best friend had once said, science fiction was just that, fiction.

The ship that hovered in front of them would certainly not win any beauty contests. It was big, bigger than some of the spaceships they'd encountered during their travels through the Stargate. But also a lot uglier. The top resembled a circular construction which looked like a giant saucer. The middle section was formed like an elongated cigar and the rear consisted of two bulky engines that shone bluish. The outer shell was a dirty white with a red lettering. It was the Astral Queen. All in all, this vessel was exactly like one would imagine a prisoner transporter. A flying space jail that housed individuals which had been given up by the society. Daniel had never seen something that was a more appropriate implementation of the old saying 'out of sight, out of mind'. He was terrified by the prospect of spending the last hours of his life there. Far away from the Stargate and their way home. Who could guarantee them, if there was help on the way, that their friends would find them soon enough?

On the control, O'Neill made preparations for landing or docking. Whatever was possible with this Raptor. They felt the ship slowing down.  
"This is Galactica Raptor 13-2. I've got two prisoners for transport to Lantis. Asking for permission to dock."  
The three people onboard the Raptor waited for different reasons for the answer. O'Neill was in a hurry to deliver his prisoners and hopefully getting rid this bad conscience that was burgeoning in him since the woman had called him Sir. Sam and Daniel saw the impending transfer to the Astral Queen as their casket nail. The moment you disappeared into the system, it was almost impossible to get out gain. It was like that everywhere.

But nothing happened. No one responded. The Major tried again. In vain. Then suddenly, the display started blinking and announced a FTL warning. The two cuffed friends had no idea what that meant, but understood intuitively that it wasn't good.  
"What the frak!" muttered O'Neill and his fingers darted across the display. Immediately, the Raptor accelerated again, but this time backwards.  
"Crazy idiots." Groused the Major as the Raptor gained pace.  
"What's going on?" Sam wanted to know, but received no answer.

O'Neill stared dumbfounded at his data. The alarm was getting louder and the blinking faster.  
"Down, get down. Cover your eyes." He called to them suddenly and threw himself on the floor in front of them. Sam and Daniel followed his instruction and folded arms and hand protectively in front of their eyes. They had no clue what was happening and what danger loomed over them.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, a loud bang. Like a tremendous whiplash. A blazing light flooded the cockpit. An electromagnetic lightning, recognized Sam. The Raptor was hit by something, a shock wave maybe, accelerated and turned to the side. They lost their footing and their bodies were pressed against the wall. Around them, technical equipment crackled and send out sparks.  
"Whew!" panted Daniel while he had the feeling that his inner organs were compressed. He couldn't breath, his lungs protesting under the pressure. Then it was over again. The Raptor slowed down as sudden as it had accelerated, until their ship hovered completely still in space.  
"Oy!" uttered O'Neill and scrambled to his feet. His first glance was at his human cargo, but when they moved, he turned immediately to his displays.

Sam and Daniel tried to get up, as much as they could with the cuffs, and stared out of the cockpit. The ship, the Astral Queen, was gone. Or had they just changed their position? And what about the shock wave? Had the ship exploded?  
"Where is it?" Sam asked and voiced the question that was going through all of their heads.  
"How the hell should I know? They just jumped, those bastards! If I get my hands on them…" he growled to no one specific.

O'Neill tapped on the screen and put on something that looked like a speaker phone.  
"Krypter, krypter, krypter. This is Galactica Raptor 13-2, can anyone hear me?"  
Daniel didn't know the exact meaning of the word krypter, but assumed that it was comparable to their SOS. Jack pounded his fists in frustration at the console, when there was no answer to his emergency call.  
"Frak!" he swore.  
It this wouldn't be such an awkward situation, it would offer an excellent opportunity to study the everyday use of a new language in an authentic situation. The linguist in Daniel was excited, he was learning new words and new meanings for words he already knew. Unfortunately, the rest of him, the man who didn't want to die out here or in a cell, couldn't enjoy it. Something was wrong here, he could feel it. After all, Sam and he were the only two remaining members of the original SG-1 and if there was potential for trouble, SG-1 found it with magical accuracy.

"Wireless is dead, engines too." mumbled Major O'Neill to himself, but still loud enough for them to hear. Whether he was so sunken in his soliloquy that he didn't recognize that he was talking out loud or if it was a nice gesture, so his prisoners understood what was going on, was not clearly interpretable. He knelt on the floor in front of the control panels and detached a metallic cover below the main display. A ton of different cables, plugs and connectors fell out. O'Neill stuck his head into the insides of the console for a moment. They could hear a muffled and rather sarcastic "Oh great!" when he emerged again. Beside Daniel, Sam leaned forward to get a better view of the cable clutter. The archaeologist shook his head. It was always the same with her. No matter how dangerous the situation, as soon as Sam ran into a technical problem, there was not much to do with her until she solved it. She was like a pit bull in such matters.

"What happened?" she asked and Jackson was amazed when O'Neill actually answered. And not just that, he even talked to her, like in a real conversation. It was a wonder, compared to his previous dislike towards them.  
"Overvoltage. We got hit by the Astral Queen's FTL wave."  
"No surge protector?" Sam asked, although she didn't know what a FTL exactly was, but instinctively concluding that it had to be some kind of engine.  
Jack sighed. "Not in this old clunker."

On all fours, he crawled to the other control console and opened a small hatch, pulling out a multifunctional tool.  
"What now?" Daniel chimed in.  
O'Neill shrugged casually. "I'll fix it."  
"You? Fix it?!" the linguist blurted out in disbelief. He could count the occasions on one hand when Jack O'Neill had offered to repair something. It was not that he hadn't possessed the skill to repair equipment. He just hadn't liked this, in his eyes, annoying tinkering and had passed it on to Carter or another technician regularly. The O'Neill in this universe didn't know anything about his doppelganger's distaste and therefore took Daniels question as a doubt about his technical skills. To be honest, he looked a little bit pissed.

He sniffed indignantly and looked around ostentatiously in the small Raptor.  
"You see someone else? Do me a favor, try not to panic."  
It registered with Daniel that he had insulted the other man when Sam elbowed him in the ribs. He yammered quietly, rubbing his aching torso and giving her a reproachful look. Okay, his remark might have been a little thoughtless. But that was no reason to be rude. Sam saw that differently and chided him with harsh head shaking. Because he had a diplomatic nature, he relented and lifted his shoulders apologetically.

"You need help?" Sam addressed their pilot after her silent communication with Daniel. His whole upper body had now vanished in the innards of the console. Still, his vigorous "No!" rang out loud and clear.  
It was followed by a crackling, like a electrical discharge, and Jack began to curse in words that they had never head before, but still sounded very rich in detail.  
"Godsdamn it, this is really frakked up! Go to the fleet, they said. See the Twelve Worlds, they said. Be the ladies man, they said. Get frakkin' stranded in the space with just a felgercrapping screwdriver, they didn't utter a mong-raking word about. Damned galmongs."  
Daniel raised his eyebrows and Sam couldn't suppress a knowing grin. Some things never changed, even in other universes. Wherever they were, a Jack O'Neill could always find a reason to swear and rant.

"Are you sure you don't need help?" Sam tried again. She had a pretty good idea what could have triggered the curses. O'Neill paused before he clumsily climbed out again. He knocked his head at a sharp edge when he tried to sit up.  
"Frrrakkk it!" he rubbed the sore spot and fired resentful glances in Sam's direction. Apparently, he blamed her for his collision.  
"Listen, Madame helpful, I don't need anyone's help. Especially not yours. Just stay where you are and don't move. You're still my prisoners, got it?"  
His rebuke would have sounded much more serious, if he wouldn't have sucked his left index finger. Again, Carter grinned as her suspicion was confirmed. The good Major had probably gotten a weak electric shot with his tinkering. _Serves him right_ , she thought.

"Now, I don't want to hear anything else from you. The plan's still to deliver you to the Astral Queen. Where ever they frakking are." He explained to them and crept back into the innards of the control console. Because he planned to remain stubborn, Carter and Jackson had no other choice but to wait. They listened to his muffled murmur and tried to understand how far advanced his repairs were. They heard a triumphant "Aha!" and soon after "There you are, you frakking bugger!"  
The instruments and displays flickered briefly and started working again.

"Hey, can you take a look at the DRADIS and tell me if it works?" called O'Neill.  
"Uhm…" Carter and Daniel looked up and searched the Raptor's interior. What was a DRADIS?  
"How does it look?" she finally asked.  
"It's the console beside you. Push the yellow button."

A little awkward, because still chained, Sam got to her feet and looked for the button. The strange layout of the control panel made it hard for her to understand the handling, but eventually she discovered the switch. She pressed the button and waited. The display remained black.  
"And? Works?"  
"No, sorry." She retorted and waited for the next instruction.

What she didn't realize at this time, was that her observation wasn't quite right. Something was happening, something big, just not on the DRADIS display. She sighed and let her eyes wander. From Daniel, leaning back with his eyes closed. Over damaged displays, the cockpit and trough the safety glass, seeing the dark and cold space outside the Raptor. It looked peaceful and…but wait, something was indeed happening out there.

Amidst the endless black, she saw little flashes of light. There were just a few of them, then more and more. The number of points of light multiplied rapidly, emerging in waves. Always a few at a time until there were several dozen of them accumulated in the small field of vision through the cockpit. She knew not much about this universe, but she knew enough about life in general to know that this definitely wasn't normal.  
"Major!" She exclaimed, her alerted voice waking Daniel from his dozing. He startled and looked for the reason of the trouble. When he found it, his eyes got big.  
"Jack!" He insisted, momentarily forgetting that he wasn't on first name basis with this O'Neill.

"What now?" Complained the tall pilot and emerged from inside the console again. He looked at his human cargo, requesting an answer to his question. Carter didn't really know how to describe it, so she just pointed a finger at the threatening lights. Confused, O'Neill turned his head. The breath caught in his throat as he realized what was disturbing the two maybe terrorists. And they had every reason to worry. He immediately jumped to his feed and lunged for the DRADIS. He hammered on the yellow button and this time, the display awoke to life. Together, the three of them stared at the flickering screen. At first, they saw nothing but then, the display cleared.

Various blue lines outlined their quadrant. A big green dot blinked and marked their own position. Apparently they were alone in this part of the universe, according to the DRADIS. Sam suspected, that it was the equivalent of a radar. But the peace was very short lived. Red dots appeared suddenly on the screen and joined their green one. Some were smaller, some were much bigger than the one that resembled the Raptor. A few of them at first, then more and more. Dozens, hundreds…no thousands. So many, that the screen was totally overloaded and it was impossible to see something else than red dots.  
"Frak!" O'Neill swore again. But this time, he didn't sound sarcastic, amused or cynical. Instead, his exclamation indicated trouble. In the dim lightning of the Raptor, he looked pale and his eyes pitch black.

A second look at the display revealed why the pilot looked as if he'd seen a ghost. Every single red dot had a little labeling. And right now, an uncountable amount of this word littered the screen. Just one word, but big consequences. Enemy. They obviously had enemy contact.  
"Who are they?" asked Daniel, his irritated look altering between the DRADIS and the cockpit's glass windows.  
The Major said just one word, but he spoke it with so much vehemence in his voice, that Sam and Daniel knew they were in mortal danger.  
"Cylons."

Neither Sam nor Daniel had heard something about Cylons. But that was not necessary. They were the enemy, they were many and they came closer. The previously innocent looking light flashes had transformed into grey spaceships of various shape and size. They were everywhere. Like locusts.

The biggest of them looked like two giant throwing stars joined to each other. Between the two parts of the ship a blue light pulsated, looking menacing and cold. Suddenly, smaller flying objects shot out of the big one. Like bees simultaneously leaving their hive and whizzing out of unseen hatchways.

They circled their motherships in wild, but controlled tracks. Noticeably fast and maneuverable, the design was completely alien. It was made of shiny metal, like chromium, and shaped like a pair of giant, curved wings. The shape resembled a boomerang, but sharper curved. In the middle of the sickle-looking ship sat a rounded top. Almost like a face with a pointed chin and mouth that mockingly barred it's teeth. Above that, a longish slot resembled a monobrow. It looked barbaric somehow. But that was a silly thought – right?- why would a spaceship need a face?

Major O'Neill remained speechless and stared out of the cockpit. All three of them visibly recoiled when suddenly one of the smaller vessels, the one with the teeth, appeared. It hovered completely still in front of the Raptor.  
"Who the hell are you?" breathed O'Neill and it seemed that he too, saw this for the first time.  
"What's that?" asked Daniel.  
"No idea." Said Jack as he stood closely behind the window, coking his head to the side in interest.  
Only now did Sam notice something very unusual about the foreign space ship. There was no visible cockpit or observation window. She couldn't detect any kind of window on those ships. However the alien pilots navigated in this thing, it wasn't with the help of visual contact.

The comparison between the ship and a grotesque human face didn't seem so far fetched now. The vessel didn't react visibly, but it felt like they were being watched, examined and assessed. Bile rose in her throat and she suppressed the feeling of being at mercy.

Suddenly, the thing began to move. A glowing red light flickered through the monobrow slot. From left to right and back again. Back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster bordering to hectic.  
O'Neills eyes widened in apprehension.  
"Oh, oh." He breathed and he was right.  
Two hatches under the head-like structure opened slowly and two tubes extended.

 _It's an firing mechanism. It's going to attack us._ The two thoughts shut through Sam's head like lightings and she was painfully aware how helpless they were in this little nutshell. Not only Daniel and she, but Major O'Neill too. Although she didn't know anything about the Raptor's armament, she'd flown enough recon aircrafts herself to know that these things were poorly armed. And even if it was different here, they were still hopefully outnumbered. A thousand to one, at least. And that was just the part of the alien fleet they could see through the cockpit window. What numbers lurked behind, above, below and next to them was an uncertain threat.

But at last, O'Neill knew what to do. He dropped on his knees and blindly fumbled with his right hand in the mass of cables he'd just repaired. When he yanked at something, it turned dark with a blow. All lights in the Raptor extinguished, along with the DRADIS and all other displays.  
"Why did you do that?" Inquired Sam and couldn't say why she felt the need to whisper.  
O'Neill kept his eyes on the enemy and replied equally quiet.  
"I think they can see us." He explained and added as he felt Carter's questioning look in his back,  
"Our energy signature. They know we are here because they can see our energy consumption. Like a hound."

It was a perfectly apt description for a bold theory. Would it prove to be true, Carter's guess about the foreign pilot was right too. The Major had shut off all instruments and all systems appeared to be offline. If the foreign ship wouldn't attack them now, it would mean that they indeed didn't work with any kind of visual signals and identification. Instead, solely relying on their instruments and data.

The thing in front of them wasn't still any longer. It swayed back and forth. Disappeared above them and appeared again on their side. I looked as if had lost its track and was now looking for it. O'Neill had been right, just like a hound. The three occupants of the Raptor were hoping fervently, that the search would be unsuccessful.

The red light pulsed two more times, then it went out and the hatches closed around the weapons. Then, finally, the ship turned away and headed back into the formation.  
O'Neill, Carter and Jackson breathed relieved. It looked as through they would live a little longer. And also, that the enemy systems were practically blind, if they couldn't find any energy signatures. That could prove to be useful information.

With a fascination bordering on perversion, they observed as the gigantic fleet, like a swarm, began to move perfectly synchronized.

It was a convenient opportunity to escape. But Jack O'Neill would not be Jack O'Neill, even in another universe, if he wouldn't choose the much more difficult path. He looked at his prisoners thoughtfully before he apparently decided that he had to risk it. Trusting them, just a little bit.  
"You're not gonna whack me over the head with something as soon as I turn my back on you?" He asked and fumbled for the keys in his left breast pocket.  
"Of course not, we're no …" Daniel started and O'Neill finished the thought with a roll of his eyes.  
"I know, I know. You're no terrorists. Just making sure you don't forget that you're getting nowhere without me, understood?" He straightened out again that an imprudent attempt to escape would do them no good. Then he threw them the keys to the handcuffs. Cater caught them and looked at him questioningly, not knowing where this sudden trust came from.  
"Get off the floor and sit down on the seats. Could get a bit bumpy." It sounded like an order and was all the Major offered as explanation.

As soon as he lost the cuffs, Daniel rubbed the sore skin of his wrists and could not help but smile, when he watched Sam hastening to the cockpit and securing herself the co-pilots seat. But he hadn't planned to quarrel with her for the front row seat. He was completely at peace with the chair at the DRADIS console. There was even a seatbelt, and he made good use of it. When an O'Neill indicated that it might get 'a bit bumpy', it was better to be prepared for a roller coaster ride. He had several years of experience in that field.

"What are we going to do now?" asked Sam and Daniel noticed that she used 'we' instead of 'you'. In her mind, they were already a team again. He didn't know whether this was good or bad. Luckily, the Major must have missed her Freudian slip.

The tall pilot flipped a switch right under the console. A flap opened and a mechanical mini-lift raised a dark red control stick.  
"We'll follow them. I want to know what those guys are up to."  
"And how do we do that? I mean, without using the drive?" Daniel wanted to know and tugged the belt tighter around his middle.  
O'Neill made a circling movement with his hand, indicating at the big fleet of the so called Cylons.  
"I'll have to control manually." He explained and went on, when he saw that his passengers couldn't follow his words.  
"I guess the Cylons use a drive similar to ours. If that's right, I can use their ion vapors to maneuver."  
"Ion vapors?" Sam asked, a little bit puzzled. She had a hunch what he was getting at, but didn't know what a ion vapor was. O'Neill had no problem to help her along, sounding unusually well versed technically.

"Their drives produce ion vapors, a byproduct of the tylium-combustion. The particles have a half life period before they decompose."  
Sam showed him with a nod that she could follow his explanation. The two had turned their seats so that they were directly facing each other. Daniel had the feeling that they had completely forgotten about his presence.  
"During that time, the particles are in motion. Uhm…" O'Neill was searching for a suitable description. "Like water displacement of a ship. If I can manage to maneuver the Raptor into their fleet, we can drift on their slipstream like a surfboard on a wave."  
Sam nodded approvingly. "Sounds like a plan."

Daniel didn't share that confidence. Although he had understood the Major's explanation, it still seemed like a risky plan. In addition, this whole endeavor was based on O'Neill's assumptions.  
"Wait a minute, what do you mean 'I guess it's similar'? You don't know for sure?"  
The other two turned around synchronously to face him, seemingly amazed that Daniel was still here.  
"True, I don't know for fact." Jack stated, scrutinizing the archeologist like he'd just asked a pretty stupid question. "That's probably because we haven't seen a Cylon for 40 years. The Colonial fleet knows next to nothing about their ships and weapons. Everyone knows that."  
"Oh…uhm…yes, sure." Daniel began to stammer when he realized that he was on the verge of making himself look suspicious. Sam and he were from another universe, therefore they'd never heard of those Cylons. He couldn't have known that these colonists hadn't seen their enemy for decades. But Major O'Neill didn't know the truth about their origin and after they'd been laughed at two times after they'd talked about Earth and the Stargate, it was questionable whether it was wise to tell this story again. Daniel considered that it might be better to lay low. But if he wasn't more careful with what he said, he'd either blab their secret or make them sound crazy.  
"I'm sorry. Of course I know that. I must've hit my head earlier." Offered Daniel and the Major seemed satisfied with his reasoning.  
"There's a first aid-kid behind you." He advised with a nod of his head.  
"Thank you, but it's not too bad. You better concentrate on your controls. Not that I doubt your abilities…" Daniel was quick to assure when he sensed his next verbal lapse, ", but your plan sounds pretty tricky."  
O'Neill grinned confidently. "It is, but I'm also very good."  
Still, Daniel wasn't completely convinced. "Still, it doesn't seem like a very good idea."  
The archaeologist felt the need to argue about it. He was, after all, the voice of reason.  
"It's not." Retorted the pilot, not sharing Daniels worry.  
"But we'll do it anyway." Jackson acknowledged his defeat with a sigh.  
"Yep. Going right into the lion's den."  
Daniel tried a last time and threw Sam a worried look. Surely, she saw how dangerous this was. Flying into the midst of a enemy fleet, without weapons or engines. But Carter didn't react. Rather, she seemed elated with excitement. There was a special light in her eyes, almost like old times.

The next minutes were spent in tense silence. They wanted to give Major O'Neill the quiet he needed to navigate their Raptor into the middle of the swarm of Cylon ships. He was operating without any kind of instruments, only using his eyesight, his feeling of the Raptor and his experience. It was a very, very slow process, but still a steady one. If there was still doubt about whether their enemies used some kind of visual identification, it was cleared up now. The Raptor crept practically right in front of their noses straight into the center of their fleet. Still, no sign that they were aware of their presence.

Daniel could hear his heart beating wildly in his chest, a sharp contrast to the ghostly quiet in the Raptor. Although he couldn't find a better comparison for the enemy fleet than that of a swarm of bees, it felt strangely wrong at the same time. He stared out the cockpit and wiped sweat from his forehead. An important element was missing. Whoever or whatever these Cylons were, they looked so mechanically, almost as if they weren't really alive. Too disciplined and robotic was their behavior. But that was his assessment, he could be wrong just as well.  
"Do we have any weapons?" He heard himself asking as he fanned himself some air. Was it just him, or was it hot and stuffy in here? Daniel hoped, that he wouldn't start to develop claustrophobia now. But when he looked out of the cockpit again, he couldn't help but feel like being trapped in a sardine can. They were surrounded by enemy ships. They were everywhere. Left, right, above, under and behind them. Sometimes, there wasn't even a foot between the Raptor and one of the Cylon ships.

"No. I've got two swallows, nothing else."  
"Swallows?" Inquired Daniel. Another unfamiliar term.  
"Decoy drones." O'Neill clarified and inched the stick a few centimeters forward when suddenly an alien ship appeared beside them , it's slipstream threatening the Raptor to adrift. His corrections were effective and they returned to a seemingly safe distance. You had to give him that, Major O'Neill steered the Raptor like a master. He knew exactly what he was doing.  
"Any idea where they want do go?" Sam asked, sitting on the co-pilots seat and staring pensively out of the cockpit window.  
"Unfortunately, yes." O'Neill answered and implied further trouble. "They're on their way to Caprica."

Caprica. The planet they'd accidentally stranded on. Sam watched the incredible high number of enemy ships and bit her lip. She had no desire to ask the question on her mind, because she had a fairly accurate idea what the answer would be. But there was no use in hiding form the truth.  
"What do they want there?"  
"Oh, I guess they're not coming over for coffee and cake." The Major muttered sarcastically. It was a classic O'Neill maneuver. Fighting the impending danger with humor. But his next words were hard and honest and eliminated the last hopes that this could still turn out good.  
"They'll attack us." He growled and added "There will be war."

Sam and Daniel held their breaths. Apparently, they'd managed to find themselves in the midst of a violent confrontation between two nations without knowing who was aggressor and who was victim. Their hearts fought against believing that a Jack O'Neill, no matter what universe, could be part of a aggressive civilization that started a war. But truth was, they didn't know this man or his basic convictions. What they knew was, that they relied on him to survive the impending attack.

"Shouldn't we warn someone?" blurted Daniel.  
O'Neill shook his head. "There's a heavy monitoring network in Caprica's orbit. Fleet Command should already know that they are coming. I just hope that they're prepared."  
Was that doubt? Hopefully not.  
"Does that mean that the fleet may be not able to fight off the attack?" Sam concluded.  
The Major shrugged his shoulders undecided.  
"The current government runs a course of disarmament. Many ships are already scrapped. I'm not sure whether…"

"Look out!" exclaimed Sam suddenly when she registered that the Cylon ships around them had stopped. Jack reacted quickly, pulling the stick backwards. The heck of the ship before them came closer and closer. The last thing they needed now was a collision. Agonizing seconds later, the Raptor finally stopped with just a few inches between them and the Cylon ship.  
"That was close." Commented Sam, still sitting on the copilot's seat.  
O'Neill answered with a "Whoops" and a wry grin before turning serious again. He moved the stick to the side and the Raptor turned into the same direction. Slowly, the scene in front of the cockpit window changed until they saw what had caused the Cylon's stop.

In front of them loomed a giant planet. Caprica. During their departure, there'd been no chance to see the planet more accurately. It was beautiful and not unlike earth. Caprica was a lush blue-green planet, covered by large oceans and continents and with another small planet orbiting in it's sphere.

Certainly, the Cylons hadn't stopped to admire the planet's beauty. Their abrupt stopping probably had something to do with the other fleet in front of them, hovering between their ships and the planet. That had to be the Colonial Fleet O'Neill had spoken about and to which he apparently belonged.

These ships were similar in size, but the design was completely different. The largest of the ships were elongated and reminded Sam and Daniel of the space ships Earth had build with the help of alien technology. But the vessels in this universe were much bigger, less clunky and more dynamic looking. Like the Cylons, the Colonial Fleet also used small, maneuverable ships. Those looked like arrows, regrouping in front of their mother ships and forming a net.  
"The cavalry. Tally-ho, guys." Remarked O'Neill and leaned back in the seat.

Daniel cleared his throat. They could open fire any second.  
"Is it clever to stay in the middle of this?" he pointed out because he held no desire to get caught in the crossfire.  
"Don't worry, we'll get away as soon as the field loosens." Calmed the tall pilot.

Both fleets faced each other, watching furtively for any kind of action or mistake. But otherwise, nothing happened or moved.  
"What are they waiting for?"  
"Don't know." Replied Jack curtly. He was cool, but not for much longer.  
Suddenly, one of the arrow-like colonial ships swung out. It tipped over to one side, appearing strangely uncontrollable. It collided with it's neighbor and tore this ship into a spin. As if the pilot was drunk. Then a second, a third and fourth ship did the same. More and more ships got into a spin, setting of disorder in the entire fleet. When even one of the big mother ships started to rotate uncoordinated around it's own axis, chaos broke out.  
"What are they doing?" O'Neill gasped and leaned forward in his seat. Whatever caused this behavior, it was spreading quickly. More and more ships lost control and left their formation. Soon, the ships that were still able to maneuver were outnumbered.  
Like a virus, thought Sam. A virus that jumps from ship to ship, until every single one of them is infected.  
"What in the gods are they doing?" repeated O'Neill disbelieving.

From the corner of her eye, she saw his right had darting out and aiming for the switch that turned on the power supply. Before her brain understood what he wanted to do, her body reacted reflexively and put her own hand on his arm and holding him back.  
"What the hell…." He looked at her blankly, not understanding her resistance. He tried to shake her hand off, but instead Sam increased her pressure on his arm.  
"Let me go." He growled dangerously.  
"I can't." Sam answered and risked a glance outside. It got worse. Sam could no longer recognize one colonial ship that was still under the control of it's pilot. The whole fleet was out of control, drifting helplessly and uselessly in space. All of them, but the Cylon ships and- and their Raptor. Suddenly she understood what was going on. Alarmed, she sought O'Neill's eyes and tried to make him understand why it was their death warrant if he fired up the systems again.

"I think it's a virus." She explained and the Major's eyebrows skyrocketed.  
"Huh?"  
Daniel could only agree with him. He couldn't follow Sam's thought, too.  
She pointed out to the paralyzed colonial ships, already more than one step ahead of them with her thinking.  
"All ships, but the Cylons and us lost control. Think about it. We're the only colonial ship that's offline. What if the Cylons somehow injected a virus into the fleet's systems? It disables all ships. If you take the systems online, you'll risk that the same will happen to us."  
They could watch how O'Neill pondered her words. "All modernized ships are directly interconnected." He mentioned almost casually. Carter nodded in agreement.  
"That's it. That's how it spreads. From one ship to the next via network."  
Jack thought about this, his eyes sliding to the fleet. He probably knew many of the men and women who now floated defenselessness in space. He ran long fingers through his short hairs in a gesture of helplessness. Their own Raptor was an outdated model and didn't posses the same network connection that the modern vessels. So, even if the blond woman was right and if it was something like a virus, it couldn't get into their systems. Still, too many ifs for his liking. It could be a virus and thus not affecting their Raptor, but it could be something else too.  
"You can't help them." Sam implored again.  
She was right, he understood. The danger that the same would happen to them was too big. If he was alone, he might try it. But he had a responsibility for the lives of his companions. He had no right to risk their lives and he respected that. Even if that meant watching helplessly how the fleet fought a battle they couldn't win while he was doomed to do nothing.

Jack nodded hesitantly. "I know."  
In desperate need for a catalyst for his feelings he jumped out of his seat kicked the wall next to him as hard as he could. Daniel and Sam winced at the sudden emotional outburst.  
"Frak! Frak! Frak!" he swore, accompanying each word with another kick. When his first anger subsided, he rubbed his face vigorously trying to regain control over his feelings. With an expression bordering to despair written on his face, he forced himself to look outside. Watching as his friends and collogues spiraled out of control.  
"Gods, they're going to be slaughtered." He breathed in resignation.

Daniel shook his head in disbelief. "But…back-up is on the way, right?" He knew nothing about these people and this conflict. But the archeologist refused to believe that it would end like this. However, O'Neill's next words destroyed all potential hope.  
"No, no there's not. This is our whole fleet. Every frakking ship is out there."  
Sam couldn't sit still any longer. She got up, stood next to Jack, their shoulders almost touching. She longed to do something, anything but having to watch what would surely happen next.

Minutes passed, filled with silence and their heavy breaths.

The first shot caught them all off guard, even though they had been waiting for it. All three flinched as all Cylon ships started to fire at the same time. Like giant machine guns, spurts of automatic gunfire whizzed past and all around them and exploded in a blue-white light when hitting the intended target. Beads of sweat ran down O'Neill's forehead, burning in his eyes.

The Cylon ships had an easy job of it and the Colonial pilots not a chance. They were shot down like flies. Massacred, without a chance to fight back. Sam tried not to imagine how the pilots of the arrow-like jets felt right now. They saw disaster and death coming up on them but could do nothing against it. Soon, the Cylons hat turned the battlefield in front of them into a mere firestorm. Explosions and debris everywhere. Her eyes searched desperately for survivors, but her vision was strangely blurred. Only now did she notice that tears were running down her eyes. She felt terribly useless. All her knowledge, all her experience and yet she was impotent.

Beside her, O'Neill breathed rattling and sank into his seat with an unusual feebleness. He covered his eyes with trembling hands, no longer strong enough to watch as the last of the fleet was extinguished until no one was left. No one but them. They could be very well the only survivors of this battle, but this thought reassured none of them.

With a pained groan, Jack dropped his head on the console in front of him. Carter felt the need to do something, to make it easier for him. But no gesture was big enough to give such consolation. Daniel felt similarly miserable. He'd just witnessed a complete fleet being wiped out. So many lives. Fathers, mothers, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters. What a shame. He had to admit, when he'd first started to work with the Air Force, he'd harbored plenty of prejudices. He'd believed that they were all die hard machos with propensity for violence. But over the years, a lot had to do with Jack's example, he'd realized that most of them in no case worshipped violence. Instead, they were willing to do anything to protect an idea that was bigger than themselves. Just like this foreign colonial pilots who were dying in front of him to protect their planet from the hostile fleet. What must they have though when they realized that they would not just die, but that there was nothing they could do to save their home?

A deadly silence dominated inside the Raptor, Jack's tortured breathing the only noise. Sam looked like she didn't know what to do with herself. Searching for supports, she turned to Daniel. Their eyes met, but there was nothing to say. A feeling of absolute gloom settled over them.

Jack lifted his head at the same time as there was a new movement in the cylon fleet. Sam recognized the terror that flared up in his eyes as he looked out the cockpit. The small ships split up in two groups, thus creating a gap for the star-shaped mother ships.

Slowly, they crawled through the gap taking up a position at the top of the enemy fleet. Again, the light began to pulsate. Cold, blue and white light. The last time they'd seen that light, the ships had spat out their smaller, but deadly counterparts.  
"Oh no, what now?" exclaimed Daniel, unbuckling his seatbelt and standing between Sam and the Major.

Jack felt sick when he saw round capsules leaving the mother ships. This couldn't be true! This wasn't happening! It had to be a nightmare! Yeah, it had to be. He would just pinch himself and wake up in his small bunk onboard Galactica with Starbuck snoring in her own bed a few feet away.  
 _Cut the crap! You're not sleeping. This is real. Move now or you'll die. Do something, you idiot!_ – Commented his mind relentlessly and mercilessly.

O'Neill knew what was coming, what was in those capsules. Yet, he didn't want to admit it. He felt hot and dizziness rising in him. Breathing was almost too difficult. He didn't really know why exactly the next words left his mouth. Perhaps, because he felt too overwhelmed to say something with more substance.  
"Your name is Jackson, right?" he asked the man standing behind him and could fell his puzzled glance on his neck.  
"Um…yes. Dr. Daniel Jackson, why?"  
Jack's eyes remained stubbornly fixed on the six capsules that slowly floated towards Caprica.  
"Well Danny, now it's time to panic."

Because he didn't know what to answer, Daniel said nothing. Silently watching as small hatches on the capsules opened. Six….missiles….each left the capsule. Momentum accelerated the missiles until they rushed in a breakneck speed towards the planet's surface.  
"What are those things?" Sam whispered, her voice scratchy, strained.

O'Neill held himself unusually listlessly in the chair. But his eyes spoke a different language. They were empty, lacking any emotion but bare horror. She'd never seen a similar expression on their O'Neill. Not even in those rare moments when he'd shared a memory of his son with them. This O'Neill opened his mouth to say something, but his voice failed him. He had to try a couple of times before he could answer. Meanwhile, the missiles flew relentlessly towards the planet. As fast as they were, there was not much time left before the impact.  
"Those are…" it was physically difficult to say it. "Those are nuclear bombs."

When his mind connected the Major's words with the appropriate consequences, Daniel grabbed the backrest to steady himself. Sam put trembling hands on her face and watched fearfully as disaster took it's course.

It took exactly 13 seconds before the bombs hit Caprica's surface. The planet would never be the same, it's flora and fauna would never recover from that massive attack. Of course, they couldn't hear the detonations, but they saw them. That was bad enough. 36 explosions. From the size of it, 36 times Hiroshima. The warheads burst in bright, blinding light flashes. As the typical mushroom-shaped clouds build up and crawled over the surface, the nuclear contaminated particles transformed the previously inviting looking planet into a place of complete desolation. Caprica was literally burning.

Sam and Daniel caught their breath, trying to wrap their minds around what they witnessed. They had encountered many violent and brutal races on their travels, had experienced a lot of blind destructiveness. But never such a raw madness. These Cylons had to be insane and eaten up with hatred and anger. What could the people of Caprica have done to provoke their own genocide? Carter was no specialist for radioactive material, but she understood that these bombs would wipe out the majority, if not the whole population. The planet would be uninhabitable for thousands of years. How meaningless! There was literally nothing left.

"How many?" she heard herself ask, although she didn't want to know it. No matter what the answer would be, every victim was one too many. But the exact number left her speechless.  
"Five billions."  
So many lives, almost like Earth. A whole Earth. The idea that this could happen to their home almost hurt physically. But that was not all. Jack's next words sounded like a list of apocalypse. Each number was like a punch in the stomach.  
"Five billion on Caprica. 1.5 on Aerilon. 6.7 on Canceron. 2.8 on Gemenon. 2.6 on Leonis."  
Sam grimaced. Leonis. This was the planned where they were supposed to have their trial at. If they hadn't stranded with this universe's O'Neill in space, they would probably burn in a nuclear fire. Her skin tingled while she thought about that.  
"And 7.4 billion together on Virgon, Tauron, Scorpia, Sagittaron, Picon and Aquaria."

Understanding came slowly. This civilization consisted of not only one, but 12 planets. 12 times complete annihilation. Unbelievable. Perverse.  
Daniel shook his head in disbelief. "That can't be true! I mean, we don't know whether…"  
"Yes, we know!" interrupted O'Neill harshly, breathing hard and looking like he desperately wanted to hit something again as he pointed at the mess of burning wrecks in space.  
"That was our entire fleet. The other colonies are completely defenseless. Those bastards won't stop until they killed all of us."

God! What must have happened between two nations that a conflict ended it such horror?!

Sam didn't notice how her left hand wandered to O'Neill's right shoulder. She ran her fingers over the smooth material of his aviator suit, then squeezed his shoulder. Tried to give him the same amount of strength that she herself drew from the physical contact. Even if she didn't know him and he didn't seem to care.

The fleeting contact between them, however, seemed to free him from his physical and emotional numbness. He straightened up and rubbed the reddened skin around his eyes with the heels of his hands. When he bent down this time to take the systems of the Raptor online again, no one bothered him.

"What are we going to do now?" rasped Daniel when he realized once again, that one blow had been enough to wipe out an entire civilization. And that was not all. The Stargate was still on Caprica. Their only way home? Was it destroyed? They'd always assumed that the Gate could not be blown up. But then again, they'd never witnessed a Gate being exposed to such a heavy blasting charge or massive radioactive contamination. It was quite possible that their only way back home was burning down there.

"We jump to the alpha six quadrant." The Major answered and sounded more like the Jack O'Neill they knew. Calm, composed and professional.  
"Why? What's there?"  
"The Galactica."  
Daniel ran a hand over his disgruntled face. He was so tired of asking questions, of not knowing what certain words meant.  
"What' a Galactica?"

O'Neill had finished the repairs, the displays and devices coming back to life. He tapped on some icons on the control panel and the Raptor accelerated. Taking them away from the blazing hell on the planet below them. For a brief moment, they were afraid that the Cylons would now notice their energy consumption and track them. But the aggressors paid no attention to a single Raptor. Probably because they were too busy celebrating this victory, Sam mused and felt scorn rising in her like bile. She swallowed it down. Now was not the time. It was important that she kept a cool head.

"The Galactica is the only Battlestar that' left. At least, I hope so." Jack said, a false sounding laugh escaping him. How ironic. Just a few hours ago, they'd decommissioned Galactica in favor of the modern Battlestars, and now? Not it was quite possible that this outdated, hulking, slow and very much in need of a renovation ship was their last hope for survival. If it was still there, of course.

The visual display changed the color from red to green as the FTL drive charged up.  
"Sit down." He ordered and waited until Dr. Jackson and the woman beside him had both buckled up. Then, he pulled the release switch. That familiar feeling of being compressed filled him and for a moment, he imagined what would happen if something went wrong. If he'd made just a minimal error in the repair of in the calculation of their target coordinate. The FTL drive would overheat and then explode. He almost wished for that to happen. But even before his desire could materialize in his mind, the feeling of tightness passed again.

The jump had been successful. No mistake, no explosion and no death. Whether he liked it or not, he had to continue with his life some more. If this was good or bad, well, he'd answer this question at a different time.

* * *

PS: I introduced a lot of different ships in this chapter and I realize, that I didn't do a really good job of describing them. I really tried, but this is still the best I came up with. Those who already know Battlestar Galactica should have recognized the ships I described. (At least I hope so) Those who don't know Battlestar Galactica that well could look up the mentioned ships in the internet. And I kind would recommend it, because those ships are much cooler than I could describe them.  
If you want to look them up, you are searching for:  
\- Cylon basestar described as Cylon motherships  
\- Cylon raider described as small Cylon ships with the face-like construction  
\- Colonial Raptor  
\- Colonial Battlestar described as Colonial motherships  
and  
\- Colonial Viper described das arrow-like ships


	7. Chapter 7

Here it is, brand new chapter. Thanks for all those nice reviews! Special thanks to the one who pointed out that a trillion is not a billion. No clue how that mix up could happen. Granted, I've never been really good with mathematics, but I know that much. Hope you like!

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Chapter 7: Hide and Seek

If Dr. Daniel Jackson had ever wondered how his shirts felt while being neatly folded at the dry cleaner, he'd knew it by the time he became aware of his own body again. Once Major O'Neill had started this ominous FTL drive, strange things had happened to his body and to the things around him. It seemed and felt like everything in his horizon was folded together like a big road map. Daniel couldn't really explain how he'd come to this comparison. He only knew, that he'd seen himself as a giant origami figure that was first folded and then unfolded again. For a split second, it had felt like he existed as a flat version of himself. If the trip through the Stargate could be described like being trapped in a washing machine, then one could compare the travel via FTL drive with being stuck in a rotary iron.

By the time the terrible feeling of tightness finally left his body, he found himself in the interior of the Raptor. Sam and the Major were also there. Honestly appearing as if they, too, hadn't been folded into handy booklets right in front of him. But unlike his last trip trough the Stargate, his body didn't need time to recuperate. Daniel immediately knew, what he'd experienced those last hours.

The malfunction of the Stargate. The museum. Agent Forster laughing at them when they'd mentioned Earth. A Jack O'Neill double in another universe. And the apparent complete destruction of the civilization, Sam and he had stranded in by mistake. The possibly destroyed, or at least badly damaged, Stargate. No way back.

Even as he was still processing the impressions of this day, he was forced to frantically hold onto the console in front of him with both hands. The Raptor accelerated rapidly, drifting to the side and shaking its passengers. Before his eyes, everything began to spin and he tried to suppress his nausea. Not matter how hopeless their situation may be, but he would surely not embarrass himself and vomit into Major O'Neill's Raptor. He could very well visualize what would happen if he'd ever barfed into Jack's beloved jeep. And this O'Neill was much younger, he would probably chase him till kingdom come.

But controlling his gastrointestinal system wasn't an easy job, the vibrations of the ship hurting in his bowels. They were hurled in all directions, like a roller coaster ride, and he held onto his chair with difficulty. Good thing he had the seat belt.

The reason for the shaking revealed itself as Daniel looked out of the cockpit window. The Major had flown them directly into a battlefield. All around them, space detonated with explosions of all sizes and colors. Like a massive fireworks display on new years eve. In the middle of this firestorm, an uncountable amount of small Cylon ships whizzed past them. They were chased from the arrow-like ships of the colonial fleet. The pilots of both fleets fought relentlessly against each other. Missiles and gunfire hissing in all directions, digging deep into the outer skin wherever they hit an aircraft.

The battlefield presented itself so chaotic and wild, that it was impossible to say who had the upper hand. And their battered, unarmed and outdated Raptor right in the middle of it all. But at least it seemed that the Major was an excellent pilot. That they hadn't been shot down already or accidently hit by a stray missile, was entirely O'Neill's credit. His fast reactions and good instinct was the only thing that kept them flying for now. Nevertheless, the impacts were getting closer. The Raptor revealed disadvantages concerning speed and armament, compared to the other ships. The Major couldn't compensate this for much longer.

"They're shooting at us." Daniel heard himself say, and promptly received a gruff answer for that rather simple observation.  
"Ya think?!" grumbled O'Neill and darted his fingers across the control console. The Raptor tipped to the right not a second too soon. An oval missile exploded where the rear had been just a second ago. But the danger was not averted. Another rocket hissed past them, then managed to catch itself. With a sharp curve, it changed its course, heading straight for them as target. The DRADIS started to howl and a crosshair flashed frantically, with the green symbol representing their Raptor right in the bullseye.

"Uh, I think we're getting a problem back here." Remarked Daniel and congratulated himself for the fact that his voice didn't sound like the one of a little, scared to death, boy. O'Neill signaled that he had understood him with nothing but a grunt. _Oh yes, I missed that_ – thought Daniel. The high art of O'Neillian monosyllabic communication seemed to be a character trait of this doppelganger, too.

Sam wasn't bothered by this. Instead, she was already falling into her professional mode.  
"What can I do?"  
Jack gave her a quick, assessing look. There was no time for a more efficient examination, because he had to steer their Raptor into the next evasive maneuver. Those missiles were damn fast.  
"See that console on your right. Touch the screen and scroll down to the drones."  
Sam sprang into action immediately and without further questions. Interesting, how old routines seemed to function universally, mused Daniel.  
"Okay, found it. What now?"  
"There should be two different sketches. Tap the smaller one and choose 'prepare launch' in the menu."  
Once Carter had done this, the display changed. Instead of the submenu and an inventory list, the image of the DRADIS was mirrored and the console asked her to enter the target coordinates. At the same time, the crosshair flashed hectically as the indicated distance between missile and Raptor decreased steadily.

Intuitively, Sam tapped on the menacing red dot approaching their aircraft. A small window opened and the display transmitted the recordings of an outboard camera. A larger version of the drone she'd chosen in the menu dropped from its holder under the left wing and gained speed. At the same time, O'Neill pulled hard on the stick and the Raptor fell into a rapid nosedive. The outer shell of the ship vibrated as their drone crossed the missile's path, exploding in a deep red color.

The situation momentarily under control again, the DRADIS calmed down somewhat and the crosshairs changed color from red to a less dangerous, but still not harmless, orange. The Major geared down and brought the Raptor back onto a steady course.  
O'Neill sighed with relief and Sam uttered a honestly impressed 'Wow', when suddenly a huge ship loomed in front of them.  
"There you are." Jack greeted the spaceship with something akin to affection in his voice.

This ship had huge dimensions and looked like a oversized space woodlouse. Not very pretty, but very impressive.  
"What's that?" Sam breathed and noticed a touch of pride in the major's answer.  
"That's the Galactica. The best the fleet has to offer."  
 _And literally the only thing the fleet has to offer_ , he thought as images of burning wrecks pushed themselves to the fore. The entire fleet was wiped out. Every ship destroyed, all but the Galactica. But as the battle developed before his eyes, the old lady wouldn't survive for much longer.

"Why's the crew not firing back?" asked the blonde woman next to him. Galactica's passivity had not escaped her eyes.  
"No ammunition."  
"What? Why?"  
"Disarmament. Galactica was supposed to be a museum ship from now on."  
"A museum ship?!" remarked Jackson aghast , but O'Neill didn't want to expose the old lady to any kind of mockery.  
"You say that as if that was a bad thing."  
Jackson gestured wildly with his hands.  
"It is, if you are attacked by a fleet of rampaging cypresses."  
"Cylons." Corrected the major patiently.  
"Whatever." Marginalized Daniel and didn't notice, how impatient he sounded. Who cared about how they were called? It was important that they could avoid being pulverized somehow.

"What are we going to do now?" Sam interrupted in a neutral tone, effectively ending the quarrel between the two men.  
O'Neill directed their course towards the Galactica before he answered.  
"We're landing on the left flight pod. Don't worry," he added when he saw Daniel's doughty complexion. "the Vipers will cover our back."  
"Vipers?" inquired Carter and tried to distinguish fried and foe in the tangle of ships hunting each other in wild dogfights. Jack pointed to one of the arrow-like aircrafts. "Those."  
Sam watched the fight for a moment, then she understood. "They're protecting the Galactica."  
"Yes, until she's ready to escape. I plan to be onboard when that happens."  
"No objection." Sam agreed, studying the Vipers in the battle.

How was it possible that those Vipers weren't affected by the failure of the entire systems? Without really being familiar with the technology, she would spontaneously suggest that this aircrafts probably didn't have the skill of networking with each other and thus, weren't affected by the virus. But without casting a glance into the systems, it was just idle speculation.

O'Neill used the short moments of relative calm amid the violent space battle to contact his colleagues onboard the Galactica. Although the huge Battlestar hovered entirely harmless and defenseless in space, he was in a hurry to land. Part of his concern was for his passengers and their safety. But he also worried about his pilots. As far as he could see, they fought selflessly and with everything they had, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. Plus, they were using the Vipers destined for the museum exhibition. Several months ago, the entire fleet substituted the old Vipers with the modern and networking succeeding model. Even the Galactica, despite approaching decommission, had received 80 copies of the shiny new jets. But he couldn't detect any of those in the battle in front of him. Instead, he counted at least 40 outdated Vipers. At least, they had still stored some remaining ammunition for the old one's and his pilots would certainly make the best out of it.

But that didn't release him from his duty. He was their CAG and he should be fighting at their side, should be leading them instead of sitting uselessly in a Raptor.

Where the rest of his 80-men and women squadron was, he could only guess. He knew that some of them had been summoned to escort the political elite to the ceremony and back to Caprica . If he was not mistaken, their planned route would have lead them directly towards the Cylon fleet. They were all dead, most likely. And the rest? When the blond woman next to him was right with her guess, then he had to get used to the idea that every one of his pilots sitting in a modern Viper had lost his or her life today.

He shook his head to clear his mind from the gloomy thoughts. If he wanted to get his passengers safely onboard Galactica, he had to concentrate now. The sooner he succeeded in landing the Raptor, the sooner he could hop into his own Viper and support his pilots. He knew every single one and maintained a close camaraderie with some of them. As far as he was concerned, he wouldn't loose anyone else today.

"Galactica, this is Raptor 13-2. We're coming in now."  
Almost immediately, he received an answer to his request. The other voice on the line belonged to Captain Kelly, Galactica's LSO. He sounded stressed and rushed. No wonder, after all, he knew that the had to bring in about 40 Vipers almost simultaneously.  
"Raptor One Three Two, you are cleared for approach. Left pod is free. Speed is One Seven Five. Hands-on approach, call the ball."  
Jack grabbed the stick hard with his right hand and throttled the speed with his left. They were still a fair way off, but the ball was clearly visible.  
"Copy, I see the ball."

O'Neill let the Raptor drop and they wormed their way through the middle of fighting Cylon ships and Vipers. Although Jack was itching to finally get into the battle, he was glad that the screw heads didn't seem to be overly interested in a stray Raptor. The missile had already been a close call and he was pretty sure that they wouldn't be so lucky a second time.

The flight pod was coming closer, like a giant maw. He risked a glance at his prisoners…or was it passengers? Admittedly, the two had acquitted themselves well. They were composed, calm and did exactly what he told them. That was a big reason why he'd been able to keep them alive. They'd made it this far, because they let him do his job.

Suddenly, his hand reacted before his mind processed the irritant. A Cylon ship appeared in his field of vision and fired a salve of bullets at them. He immediately broke off the attempted landing and steered the Raptor into a daring dive to evade the shots. Their hunter continued chasing them and fired a second time. Jack pulled the control stick to the left and accelerated, but they were too slow. The third salve hit the Raptor's side and some of the bullets punched through the outer skin, leaving walnut-sized holes.

The pressure loss made itself known instantly. The warning klaxons howled and the Raptor started automatically to disable not needed systems to transfer all energy in maintaining the artificial pressure. Jack heard a hissing sound and knew that there had to be a leak somewhere in the heck and that it could proof to be fatal for them, if they couldn't seal it soon. But he was the only pilot onboard and couldn't leave the control. With the pressure loss and the disabled systems, it was hard to keep up a halfway steady course. If they slipped into a tailspin for just the blink of an eye, he may not be able to get the aircraft under control again.

Whether he liked it or not, he had to rely on his passengers. He had not yet decided if he could trust them. But he was sure, terrorists or not, that they didn't want to die. Just as he wanted to tell the blond woman how she could seal the leak, the man named Daniel Jackson groaned loudly. He had unbuckled himself and was now crouching down at the DRADIS console, pressing both hands on his right upper leg. Blood was pooling on the floor, proofing that he had been hit by one of the ricochets.

"Godsdammit!" Jack spit. Now there were two leaks to seal.  
"Daniel!" cried the woman beside him. She immediately jumped out of her seat, in a rush to help her friend.  
"Hey, wait!" the major held her back. He could understand her need to help the wounded man, but they had different priorities. The Raptor was loosing speed and height rapidly. If they failed to seal the leak within the next moments, a gunshot wound would be their smallest concern.  
She turned to him, but her eyes stayed with Jackson.  
"We have to take care of the leak first." Explained Jack empathically, hoping that she would be reasonable. Fortunately for them, she managed to tear her eyes from her injured friend.  
"What do you need me to do?"

Major O'Neill sighed with relief. It was truly a blessing that she remained so calm and collected. The last thing they needed was panic. He nodded towards a large round metal that looked like a curling stone.  
"Take the sealing and press it over the leak. If you feel a tug, it's sealed. Then you can help your fried. There's a first aid kid under the DRADIS console."  
She nodded firmly and picket up the seal.

While she was looking for the leak, mainly using the hissing to orientate, O'Neill focused on keeping the Raptor stable. With horror he realized, that they had a Cylon ship hot on heels. The toaster had tasted blood and wanted to slay his prey. Jack had no choice but to steer their aircraft into a risky zigzag course to ensure that the enemy weapon systems couldn't get a clear shot at them.

In the back of the heck, Sam had a hard time staying on her feet. The Raptor was swaying from side to side, making it almost impossible for her to keep her balance. The outer walls vibrated dangerously, sounding like they could burst at any moment. When the Major abruptly steered the ship to the left, she lost her footing and slammed down hard on her knees. Carter grunted as she picket herself up again. Moreover, she found it unbelievably hard to ignore Daniel's strongly bleeding leg. Everything in her urged her to help him. But her mind knew, if she couldn't seal the leak and stop the pressure loss quickly, they would all die.

So she gripped the sealing and dragged herself on. She finally discovered the leak and crawled on all fours towards it. When she was almost close enough to slide the sealing over the leak, the Raptor fell into a nosedive again and she felt her body slipping away. But Daniel, despite his obvious pain, stayed on alert. He had one arm slung around the chair and the other one shot out and grabbed Sam by the shoulder. While he steadied and helped her to reach the leak, the blood could flow freely from the wound. He was getting dizzy and tired.

Finally, Sam succeeded in pushing the seal over the leak. Immediately, the menacing pressure loss stopped and the Raptor gained noticeably altitude.  
"Yes! Good job!" she heard Major O'Neill praising her, but allowed herself just a second of quiet triumph. Then, as quickly as possible, she crawled to Daniel and ripped the orange first aid kid from the wall.

Inside, she found stuff that she recognized, but also things whose use didn't disclose itself to her. Sam tore the material of Daniel's pant leg with bare hands and pressed a thick stack of bandages on the wound. She put Daniels hands on top of the bandages.  
"Keep up the pressure." She instructed and patted his cheek, because Daniel couldn't seem to focus on her. Although he nodded, his movements were slower than usual. The effects of the blood loss and the pain was affecting his capacity of reaction .  
"I have to stop the bleeding." She cried in despair and emptied the first aid kid, because she couldn't find anything to help her close the wound. She wished Janet was here, she would know what do to.

Without taking his eyes from the displays, O'Neill came to her aid.  
"There should be a green sachet. Sprinkle the powder into the wound, all of it. And don't cover it, it needs oxygen."  
 _Yes! Yes, that sounded plausible. Something like wound powder, maybe?_  
Sam followed his instructions. She yanked the green plastic sachet open and let the whole content trickle into Daniel's wound. Trusting the major's words blindly, even though she didn't know him. Deeply worried, she registered that her friend promptly started to groan in pain as the powder touched his bleeding skin. He was groping for the wound and she had to hold him back, or else he would scrape at the wound with his bare hands. His struggle lasted only a few seconds. Then his pupils turned inwards, the head tipping to the side. With trembling fingers, she felt for a pulse.

The panic in her chest dissipated some when she discovered a faint, but steady heartbeat. The powder must have triggered a hellish pain, but it seemed to work. White steam and an acrid odor was rising from the wound. And there was a strange sound, like bacon that was fried in a pan with too much oil. Slowly, the bleeding subsided and then stopped completely. Carefully dabbing off the remaining blood, Sam saw that the raw skin of the wound edge looked as if it had been cauterized. Next she checked the back of his thigh for an exit wound and felt hope rising in her, when she found a small hole. As far as she could tell, it wasn't a life-threatening wound, now that it had stopped bleeding and that there was no danger of the bullet wandering through his muscular tissue. Carter grabbed the unconscious archeologist at the shoulders, guiding him into a stable side position. Because she couldn't do more for Daniel at the moment, she resumed her seat next to the Major.

The Raptor was steerable again, but that didn't mean that they were out of trouble. Small beads of sweat glistened on the pilot's forehead, rolling into his eyes because he didn't dare to take his hands off the control console. They had destroyed one missile, but there were many more of those. Cylon ships chased them trough the battlefield, firing salves that zinged all around them.  
"Daniel needs a doctor."

O'Neill rubbed his forehead against his right shoulder to get rid of the burning sweat. He had to apply so much force to keep the Raptor on track, that bluish veins stood out on his hands and arms.  
"What we need it some back-up, otherwise, there's no doc in the 12 Worlds that could patch us up again." He replied casually and steered the Raptor hard starboard, dodging a missile that collided at a wrack before them. Instinctively, Sam ducked her head as their aircraft dived trough the debris of the destroyed ship.

"This is Raptor 13-2. I've got a bandit hot on heels. Could need a bit of help here."  
The call for back up didn't remain unanswered for long and when a female voice responded, Sam observed with surprise that O'Neill rolled his eyes. Maybe, because the female pilot consequently ignored the formal communication phrases. In any case, she sounded almost overbearing.  
"Hey, Boss. Long time, no see. I was beginning to think you'd chicken out. How's that pillbox flying?"  
Above his head, a little red light flashed up and O'Neill tapped it annoyed. When it resumed blinking, he slammed his fist against it and grunted in satisfaction, when the light extinguished.  
"Starbuck, shut the hell up and shoot those damned Toasters already."  
"Wilco. Let's play hide and seek."

The Major mumbled something and slowed the Raptor. Immediately, the Cylon pilot hunting them was coming closer again. The DRADIS howling and announcing a hostile target acquisition.  
"What are you doing?" Sam asked, alarmed by his behavior. Seconds ago, they'd just barely escaped a missile and now he was slowing down voluntarily?  
"I want him to come really close. He'll get the surprise of his life." Explained O'Neill cryptically and gave her a daredevil grin, while she still didn't seem to be okay with his tactic. Carter kept staring at him, maybe hoping that she could read in his face what he was up to.  
"Look forward." He told her, still grinning.

She followed his advice and what she saw, raised her hackles. One of the Vipers had emerged into her field of vision, flying with a breathtakingly speed towards them, on a direct collision course.  
"Turn away!" Sam cried and felt panic rising, when the Major just winked at her. Was there something like anticipation in his eyes?  
"Got him." The voice of the female pilot floated trough the radio. She too, sounded too cool for what was going on. "You better get ready Boss, in 10…9…8…"  
Sam held her breath and gripped the armrest of her seat, despite knowing that it would do her no good in a collision. Meanwhile, the countdown was running down mercilessly while the Viper came steadily closer. She could even see the pilot's golden helmet.  
"5…4…3…2….now!"

What happened after the countdown, took place in a split second. Major O'Neill pushed the control stick down, surprising not just the woman sitting next to him, but also the enemy pilot. The Raptor sagged until it was almost in a freefall, giving the Cylon no chance to react in time. Unforeseen for the hostile pilot, the Viper took over the Raptor's place. Suddenly, the Cylon was no longer a hunter shooting at a wounded bird, but found himself in the role of the hunted one. He tried to doge the approaching Viper, but the female pilot called Starbuck wasted not even a second. Two missiles detached from under the wings and hit the Cylon ship directly in his caricatured face. The explosions ripped the ship literally in two parts.

"Yihaaaaaa! Take that you frakking toaster! Starbuck strikes again!" rejoiced the female pilot and Jack wiped a big hand over his face, breathing a little easier now.  
"Nice job, Starbuck."  
"Anytime, Boss. Now you better shoo into the bird farm. I see fuel coming out somewhere at your tail."  
The Major nodded and chuckled in amusement. "See you there."  
Under normal circumstances, he tried to be comradely towards his pilots, not pushy or ostensibly friendly. So, this was his was of telling his best pilot that she should watch out and return to Galactica in one piece. They'd lost enough good people for one day. Jack could hear her grin, when she answered him.  
"Will do. But first, I gotta clean up some more."

O'Neill risked a look at the woman beside him. She looked as relieved as he felt.  
"How about some firm ground under your feet?"  
She managed a tired smile. "No objections."

This time, they managed to land undisturbed in Galactica's left flight pod. They came in a bit too fast, but that was no big problem. Admittedly, the landing was bumpy as the Raptor hit the deck and skidded across the floor, but at the end it came to a stop on some kind of hydraulic platform. The ground beneath them suddenly moved and the Raptor was lowered into a big hangar via a lifting platform attached under the flight pod.  
O'Neill let his head fall back and exhaled. Then he examined Daniel, who was still lying unconsciously on the floor.  
"Come on, let's help your friend."

Carter grabbed Daniels left arm, while O'Neill supported his other side. They almost lost balance, when the hoist came to a stop. At any other time, Sam would've probably marveled at the interior of this giant ship, but now she just wanted to ensure that Daniel finally received medial help.  
They stepped onto the Raptors left wing, with the linguist hanging between them like a wet sack. Slowly, he came awake again, shaking his head and babbling confuse words.  
"Where are we…I mean, what…Jack? Is that you?"  
"Everything is okay, Daniel. We are safe. You're going to be okay again." Carter was quick to reassure her friend, before he could prattle away their secrets. He was completely dazed from the shock and the pain, not realizing where he was or remembering what had happened to them. Therefore, he was also surprised to see Jack O'Neill beside him, alive and kicking.  
"Jack! It is you! It's sooooo good to see you."

Major O'Neill took it with humor and patted Daniel kindly on the shoulder.  
"Sure buddy. Now, we're going to Doc Cottle and he'll give you a nice load of morpha. Best stuff in the universe."  
He garnished his joke with a knowing smirk, revealing that he himself had some experience with this painkiller called morpha.

By the time the hatch opened fully, several men and women were already waiting for them. They wore orange utility jumpsuits and sooty spots on their faces. Technicians, probably.  
"Hey guys, a little help." Asked the Major and immediately two crewmen seized Daniels arms and helped getting the dazed archaeologist onto the hangar.

The deck was huge. Sam was sure, that they could put a whole carrier in with still enough space to move around easily. I reminded her a little bit of the spaceships from Teal'c beloved Star Wars movies. The walls were colored gray. The floor displayed blue and yellow squares, probably marking where various ships and tools should be placed to maintain a certain order. A rough estimate of about 80 technicians dressed in similar orange jumpsuits scurried around busily, not showing worry or fear about the ongoing battle.

Sam stopped her visual exploration tour when she heard a shrill whistle behind her. With Daniel practically attached to her right side, she turned around and saw the Major with one of the technicians, stranding in front of the Raptor and examining the outer skin. What had the two men so bound to the sight, was a huge hole, looking almost like flesh wound. Dozens of cables were hanging out, without coating and spitting little electric flashes. A twinge of dizziness came over her, when she realized how damaged the Raptor really was. This could have gone very wrong very quickly. The technician had come to the same conclusion.

"Oh boy! The last time I've seen such a crater in a Raptor was when Flat Top confused forwards and backwards."  
O'Neill just shrugged. "You know me Chief. If I do something, I do it right."  
The Chief shook his head in disbelief and muttered something that sounded like 'damned jockeys'  
He received a friendly pat on his back and an encouraging praise from the Major.  
"If anyone can sort this out, it's you Chief."  
"It wouldn't come to this, if you flyboys and girls would finally understand that these ships don't grow on trees!" scolded the older man, stroking almost lovingly over the Raptor's battered skeleton.  
O'Neill cleared his throat, not really in the mood to bear the brunt of the Chief's foul temper.  
"Yeeeeees, well. Gotta go, see you around Chief."

But the Chief was completely absorbed with the repairs, not noticing as O'Neill went back to his two new friends. _Oh, wait a second! New friends? Where had that come from?_ Jack shook his head at his own stupidity. As far as he knew, they were terrorists and normally, he had anything but sympathy for those kind of assholes. So, where did those familiar feelings come from? Maybe because they had been forced to watch Caprica's destruction together? This sort of horrible experiences brought people together, no matter if they liked each other in the first place. It was just simple psychology, this strange familiarity towards the man and the woman. It would pass, he was sure of that. After all, he knew nothing of them. Not even the woman's name.

The took his place at Jackson's right shoulder again, and together the three of them hobbled towards the door and the fastest way to the infirmary. Jackson, who obviously still had no clue where he was, continued babbling to himself. His head rolled from right to left, as if a hinge in his neck war broken.  
"Ja-ack! I'm so glad you're alive. You're my best friend!" Daniel exclaimed with the voice of a drunken man, trying to give O'Neill a big kiss on his cheek. But Carter responded quickly. She pulled his arm jerkily, causing his head to roll away from the pilot. Instead of O'Neill, it was Sam who received the wet peck. Daniel didn't seem to notice this mistake, he looked at her as if he saw her for the first time, a strange sentimental expression on his face.  
"Aren't you happy as well, Sam? Jack lives! Not you two can finally…Ouch!"  
Before Daniel could express his thought, Sam's elbow landed on his ribs and ended his uncontrolled speech just in time. Carter could feel O'Neill's watchful eyes on her neck, but she refused to give into the urge to look back. Instead, she tried her best not to turn red, which was not easy given the physical exertion of dragging Daniel along. After all, the archaeologist was not exactly a lightweight. Along with it, Galactica's left hangar was repeatedly shaken when the ship was hit by a missile or had to manage an evasive move.

But Carter was spared the humiliation of more embarrassing hints when a woman ran towards them. She was young and asian-looking. Her long, dark hair was tied in a messy ponytail and she wore the same flight suit than O'Neill.  
"CAG!" she called when she reached them, appearing to be endlessly relived to see her superior. The Major slowed down and devoted all his attention to the sweating young woman.  
"Boomer, you okay?"  
"Yes! We just got away in time."

O'Neill's eyes narrowed. "Got away? From where?" As far as he remembered flight schedule, Boomer and Helo, her ECO*, hadn't been assigned a flight.  
"We were sent to Caprica, to check out a strange signal. Something hit us in the orbit and we had to make an emergency landing. Gods! I think it was a nuclear bomb! There were so many people at once. They wanted to get away from the planet, but we couldn't take them all." Recounted the young woman and her voice became more and more hectic. It was clear, that she had no clue what was happening and that her overeager mind tried to fill out the gaps. O'Neill wanted to calm her, putting a heavy hand on her shoulder.  
"Calm down, Boomer. Just keep breathing." He waited until she regained control over her lungs again. "Okay, that's it. Now tell me what happened. One thing at a time."

The woman named Boomer, that was probably not her real name but her call sign, nodded and closed her eyes.  
"We were at the decommission ceremony when we received this strange signal. Lt. Gaeta thought that it was just white noise, but Colonel Tigh insisted to verify the matter. He sent us out and we backtracked the signal to Caprica's orbit. Then suddenly, the DRADIS announced Cylon contact."  
She opened her eyes again, blinking rapidly and displaying small and confused pupils.  
"That can't be true, right Sir? I mean, we haven't seen a Cylon in 40 years." She asked more to herself that her CAG. Sam wondered as well. For forty years, the Colonists hadn't heard or seen something from those Cylons. Yet, the young woman couldn't be more than 25 years old, which meant, that she'd never encountered one of their enemies herself. No wonder, that she was so freaked out.

O'Neill realized the same thing. It was true, with the exception of Commander Adama, Colonel Tigh and Doc Cottle, no crewman onboard Galactica had ever seen a Cylon. A real one, they'd seen plenty of them in books or documentaries. This lead down to the fact, that everything the crew knew was based on exercises alone. While those training was held under realistic conditions, it was a poor substitute for a real fight. Jack grimaced in frustration, no one of them was prepared for any of this.

"What happened next?" He pulled the female pilot in front of him out of her inner turmoil. As much as he could understand that Boomer wanted to do nothing more than hide from the truth, he needed her to stay focused. Her eyes wandered from left to right, as she tried to organize her memories.  
"We were hit by something. I initiated an emergency landing. We weren't sure what hit us, so we repaired the Raptor and planned to report back to Colonel Tigh. Suddenly, there were so many people. They screamed about a Cylon attack, about nuclear bombs. They wanted us to take them with us. But we only had space for 10 people. There were so many of them left, children too, after we crammed 10 of them into the Raptor. But we couldn't possibly take more. Right, Sir?"  
Her voice held insecurity, as she demanded confirmation from her CAG that she couldn't have done more. O'Neill nodded in agreement.

"Boomer, you did everything you could. You would've overloaded the Raptor otherwise."  
But this fact seemed to be little consolation.  
"There were so many of them left. We promised them to come back, but then…"  
She gestured helplessly at the chaos around them and Jack understood. By the look of it, there was not a chance that she would get permission to fly back. That would be suicidal. Not to mention, that there was probably no one left to save. But he didn't need to say that aloud, Boomer knew already.  
Still, he wanted to console her somehow, but then he noticed something else. His eyes looked over her head, searching for someone on the hangar but not finding that person. A bad boding raised in him.  
"Boomer, where is Agathon?"  
The young woman's guilty eyes were glued to the floor.  
"Lt. Valerii, where is Lt. Agathon?"  
Tears shone in her eyes as she answered.  
"He insisted to say on Caprica. Gave is place to a civilian. He said it would be okay, that I could come back later and get him. Sir, we have to go back. I promised I'd return."

The remorse and shame about leaving her colleague behind was clear to see in her face. Carter instantly felt with her, because she knew that look, that kind of pain. Boomer was still so young, too young to shoulder so much guilt. Had she herself ever been that young? She no longer remembered. All she remembered was, that whenever an inexperienced Captain had expressed worry, a certain Colonel had found a way to make it easier for her. Now, as she watched Major O'Neill calming his young team member, it was as if history repeated itself.

"Listen Boomer, we'll get Helo back. I promise, we're not leaving him behind. But we can't go back now. I don't know when, but I swear we'll go back and keep searching until we find him."  
Sam was fascinated by the determination in his eyes, even if they were not directed at her. He firmly believed what he said. Although he'd just witnessed how his Home World had been destroyed and contaminated. But Major Jack O'Neill _would_ return and he _would_ search for his pilot, even if there was nothing to find anymore.  
"But first, we need to get into safety. We can't help him if we're getting ourselves killed. If Helo was here, he'd say the same thing. Okay? Do you understand, Lt. Valerii?"  
Boomer swallowed hard, but nodded finally.  
"Got it, Sir." She insured, professionalism returning to her with every passing second.

The Major rewarded her with a confident smile. Where he found that sureness, remained his secret.  
"Good. Now we're taking Mr. Jackson to Doc Cottle. Then we need to talk to the Commander. He needs to know what's going on."  
bit her lit an stared reluctantly at the aircrafts in the hangar. Not one of them was airworthy. Even though her sense for duty told her to go back into battle, there was nothing for her to work with. Finally, she nodded in agreement.

They'd just taken a few steps, when the next disaster announced itself. The loud sound of a klaxon immobilized all work in the hangar at once.  
"Attention! This is the CIC. Prepare for nuclear impact at left flight pod! I repeat, prepare for nuclear impact at left flight pod! Evacuation protocol delta is active!" announced a voice through speakers.

For a split second, there was eerie silence. For some reason, O'Neill's and Carter's eyes met over Daniel's head and Sam understood, what he wanted to tell her. The left flight pod was exactly where they stood right now. The Major practically hauled his part of the archeologist's body at her. Then she felt his hands on her back, pushing her towards the exit.  
"Run! Run! Run!"was all she heard before chaos broke loose.

* * *

*ECO=Electromagnetic Countermeasures Officer; similar to the role of an ECMO in US Naval aviation


	8. Chapter 8

Hi, next round: chapter 8. Sorry for the delay. Hope you like.

* * *

Chapter 8: As of this moment, we are at war

"Go, go, go!" O'Neill called to her, pushing her hard towards the open hatch, but himself running in the opposite direction. Boomer did the same and as Sam turned her head while she was dragging Daniel along, she saw that the two pilots were helping the Chief with the evacuation. Making sure, that all deckhands could escape the oncoming impact.

She herself had all hands full with Daniel. He was somewhat conscious and tried to walk by himself, but she still had to support most of his weight, ensuring that his uncoordinated movements wouldn't drag them both down. Meanwhile, the klaxons kept blaring and indicating that this was really happening.

Finally, Sam and Daniel stumbled through the hatch together with many others. She guided his exhausted body on the ground and helped him leaning at the wall behind him. Then, without thinking about it, she jogged back into the hangar. Sam was, after all, an officer. And if she was willing to consider that the military ranks in this universe mirrored the ones she knew, Carter was actually the highest ranking officer. So, even if she didn't want to go back, it was her duty. But she wanted to help, staying in the hot hangar until the last one of the young deckhands was safe.

Carter entered the hangar as a young man in an orange overall stumbled upon her. She caught him just in time and helped him back on his feet. He nodded at her gratefully and then escaped through the hatch. At the other end of the hangar, she discovered O'Neill and Boomer. The Chief hung bleeding and unconscious between them as they hauled him along. Sam's legs functioned on their own as she jogged towards them to help. But she didn't get that far. Suddenly, there was a deafening bang.

A crunching sound filled the air. It was metal grinding against metal as the Galactica drifted into a spin, causing the ships and tools catching movement and crashing into each other. Sam noticed that she lost the ground under her feet when her body was catapulted through the air. She slammed against a wall a few feet away and fell to the ground, partly paralyzed with pain exploding in her back. With difficulty, she managed to keep her eyes open. But her vision was too blurred to detect something accurate. Instead, she heard the screams and the crackling of sparks surrounding her. She tried to sit up and had to accept, that her body wasn't functioning at all. She remembered all those moments these last six months when she'd mused, if maybe dying was the solution for all her worries. But now, as she was confronted with the very possibility of her own demise, Sam realized that she indeed wanted to live on. Even if her life sucked right now, she wasn't ready to quit yet. When she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, Sam wondered if that particular choice was about to be taken out of her hands after all.

* * *

Outside, in the corridor, Daniel slowly regained consciousness. The fog that had previously hovered stubbornly in his head dissolved and he could think clearly again. All around him, the hallway was in utter chaos. Men and women in orange jumpsuits running around alarmed, shouting orders and spurring each other on. Many of them looked like they needed medical attention themselves, yet they worked on. With heavy tools in their hands and apparently desperately trying to open the locked hatch leading to the hangar.

 _Sam! Where was she?_

Daniel scrambled to his feet and ignored the hellish pain in his leg as he supported his body, leaning against the wall. Frantically, he looked around, but he couldn't find her. Neither Sam nor Major O'Neill were with him in the corridor. Daniel swallowed hard and grabbed the arm of a man that was running past him.  
"What happened?"  
In contrast to the other crewmen, the man wore a dark green uniform. He had something like a minicomputer with him and seemed to be in a hurry. Still, he took the time to answer.  
"The left flight pod was hit by a nuclear bomb. There's no sign of radioactive contamination inside, but it's dangerous for the ship and the emergency systems kicked in. The hangar is sealed off from the rest of the ship." He explained curtly.

The unknown man carried the aura of someone who knew what he was doing. As he positioned himself in front of the locked hatch and clapped his hands loudly, the uncoordinated bustle stopped immediately.  
"Okay, guys. There are still about 40 of our people locked in the hangar. It's slowly getting uncomfortable and it's our job to get them out."  
He pointed alternately to different deckhands as he gave precise instructions.  
"Henderson, I need a wireless connection to the hangar. Lars, contact the CIC. Give them a status rep and tell them we'll need more time than we thought at first. Tobias and Lucy, go and get us the big hydraulic spreader and the heavy cutter. We might have to break through if we can't regain control over the damage control systems. Sanchez, make sure that there are a couple of medics on their way. James, you're with me. The rest has to go now. I know you want to help, but we need the space to move freely here."

As soon as he had assigned the tasks, a few rounds of resolute "Yes, Chief!" could be heard as deckhands hurried in all directions to follow their orders. The Chief stayed behind, together with the men he called Henderson and James. They removed a silver cover plate at the wall, exposing many ports and electrical connections, and started hooking up the minicomputer.  
Unnoticed by the working men, Daniel limped to the sealed hatch and peered though the porthole. He squinted his eyes, but the glass was too dirty to see much. Soot and grime was smeared on it from the inside. Soot and grime? His brain literally stumbled over his next realization. Soot and grime meant that there was a fire raging in the hangar. Again, he pressed his face against the window and concentrated on discovering something that hopefully weakened this thought. But all he saw, was dark gray smoke. His next words were stuck in his throat, blocked by the fear for Sam…and the Major too.

"It's burning in there." He uttered at last. The Chief kneeled in front of the minicomputer's display, only looking up briefly.  
"We know. The explosion roasted the fire fighting systems. That's why the damage control systems automatically locked up every possible entry."  
Okay, that sounded logically. Containing the fire through sealing off the affected areas. Made sense. But, how could the trapped get out again?  
"What about the people inside?"  
"The locks will open again as soon as damage control system detects that fire fighting measures are carried out."  
"But, you just said that fire fighting systems are damaged." Daniel snapped in panic. If those hatches would remain locked until the fire was out and if this Chief couldn't repair the fire fighting systems, it would mean that the hatches would only open when the fire extinguished itself. But that was much too late for the trapped people. They would suffocate or burn to death.  
"Exactly that's the problem. We can do nothing from here. But inside the hangar is a console to activate the fire-extinguishing systems manually. We just need to talk to someone."

Upset and almost drained of all strength, he combed a hand through his hair. The stress of the past 20 or so hours made themselves felt now. He felt vulnerable, as if his whole body was a painful, open wound. The physical pain, the fear for Sam and the worry of being stranded in this reality forever, developed into a desperate anger.  
"What are you waiting for? You have to help them! Stop sitting around and…" he yelled at the men. In his eyes, they were working in a maddening slow pace, although the opposite was the case.  
The Chief didn't react directly towards Daniel's ranting, but he nodded to his colleagues.  
"Get the guy out of my way!"  
Daniel tried half-heartedly to resist when he was pressed against the wall. His head slammed against something hard, but the pain helped him to think straight again. He raised his hands apologetically and voluntarily moved back a few steps. The lightheaded feeling was gone and he realized, that he needed to stay calm and let those men work.

Restrained by his own terrible helplessness and uselessness, Daniel could do nothing but watch the Chief and his deckhands working and hoping, that their efforts would save Sam and the others.  
"Done! We got a signal!" Finally one of the men announced, holding something in his hand that looked like a chunky handset. The Chief took it and wasted no time.  
"This is Chief Tyrol, can someone hear me? Is anybody there?"  
Silence reigned in the corridor as all of them waited desperately for someone to answer.

* * *

Sam heard a deep groan and startled, when she realized that she was the source. Painfully, she opened her eyes. Thick, stinking smoke stung in her eyes and drove her to tears. She was lying on her side and there was someone else with her. It was a man sprawled on the floor, facing her directly. He was silent and his eyes open, but lifeless. The pupils were fixed and a sharp piece of metal was drilled into his skull. She recognized him. It was the Chief and he was dead. Sam straightened her protesting body and tried to distance herself from the Chief's broken body.

She leaned against something hard and solid and noticed upon closer inspection, that it was the belly of a Raptor, knocked to the side by the force of the impact. Nothing in the hangar was still where it was supposed to be. Everywhere, ships, tools, boxes, debris and broken ceiling girders lay around scattered. From all directions, confused and pained groaning and moaning reached her. Sam rubbed her aching temples and coughed, as a new surge of smoke drifted past her. A fire, a burning fire. Chemical, acrid, smells hung under the ceiling prompting Sam to conclude that this was not just a simple cable fire.

She let her eyes wander and discovered Boomer. The young woman was huddling in a corner, pressing her right arm protectively against her body. But, sadly, no trace of Major O'Neill. Carter grabbed the Raptor's wing, steadying her body, and pulled herself up. Her limbs ached, but she didn't seem to be hurt badly. Faltering a few times, she scrambled through the field of debris. She encountered many hurt and dazed people. The ones who weren't seriously injured helped their colleagues back on their feet and stumbled towards the closed hatch.

When Sam recognized Major O'Neill's large silhouette through the smoke, she almost sank to her knees with relief. He also discovered her, climbing over a large tool box. When he reached her, he tripped over something and she put a steadying hand on his shoulder. A thin trickle of blood appeared from under his hairline and his face was covered with grime. Otherwise, he looked well and his posture betrayed no worse injury.  
"You okay?" he asked, his eyes checking her body for damages just like she'd done with him a few seconds ago.  
Sam nodded. "Yes. I'm fine."  
"Where's Jackson?"  
She rummaged in her still a little bit fogged mind until she found the answer.  
"I got him out in time." She exhaled relieved.  
"That's good. We should do the same. Air's getting stuffy."

Together, they made their way trough the rubble, holding onto each other as not to fall. When they arrived at the hatch, they were greeted by an angry and worried group of men and women. Many of them had naked fear literally written on their faces. Boomer struggled through the group and joined them.  
"The hatch is sealed and the fire-fighting systems are down." She reported with a croaking voice.  
"Yeah, I can see that." Mumbled O'Neill.  
The two pilots shared a serious look. They knew what a sealed hatch meant. The damage control systems hat automatically cut the hangar off from the rest of the ship to protect the areas not affected by the fire, that was smoldering dangerously somewhere in the back of the flight pod. They wouldn't get out of here until the fire was extinguished. But if the fire fighting systems were down, there were only two more options left. The first was to manually activate the systems and the other…oh well, there was no use in thinking about it. When the guys in the CIC decided to take the second option, there was nothing they could do about it anyway.

"What now?" Carter wanted to know, studying the heavy und solid metal of the hatch. She guessed that the material was at least 20 cm thick and the hinges seemed to be double secured. Beside her, O'Neill sighed and shrugged his shoulders.  
"First, I'm going to rattle stupidly at the door in the hope that it perhaps opens with magic, although I know that it won't happen. Then, I'll find myself something to hit the window, notwithstanding that the glass is shatterproof. And then, if nothing worked, I'll start to curse and wait until someone out there stumbles upon a useful solution."

Sam and Boomer watched him incredulously while he actually performed all three steps. He rattled the door, even gave it a kick, picked up a stay pipe from the ground and hit the window. At last, he cursed at the door, calling it a 'gods damn piece of junk'. When he was finished, he shoved his hands into his pockets and waited patiently.  
"Uh, sir?" inquired Boomer and frowned. But the Major only raised a hand to stop her objection.  
"Relax. My plan's working. And if not, there's still Plan B."  
"Plan B?" Lt. Valerii pulled her apparently injured arm closer to her body.  
"We all run around like a bunch of headless chicken."  
Boomer shook her head resolutely. "Plan A, definitely plan A."  
O'Neill rocked back on his feet, rolling his neck and popping the muscles there. "Yup, I second that."

* * *

In the corridor on the other side of the sealed hatch, Chief Tyrol and his people were stilly busy trying to restore communication with the trapped crewmembers. Meanwhile, paramedics and other deckhands willing to help had gathered. Apparently, it had spread to the farthest corner of this ship that their comrades were in danger and needed help.

But sadly, there was not much for them to do. The Chief had all his tools and deckhands he needed ready. They'd tried to break open the hatch, but except of a few scratches, the door resisted with brilliance. The hatch was build too stable. The designers had done a really good job. The system was a hundred percent burglar-proof.

"Damn it! Can anyone hear me?" Chief Tyrol tried again to reach someone via the communication station. Nobody answered. The Chief hung his head and looked at his men and women with regret in his eyes.  
"I'm sorry people. Looks like we're too late. That's it."  
Shocked murmur bore its way through the long corridor.

The Chief was about to start packing his equipment, when one of his men shouted excitedly.  
"Someone's hammering against the hatch! Look, they are still alive!"  
Tyrol immediately dropped everything and rushed to the hatch. With his sleeve, he wiped the glass there and dodged instinctively when he saw the blurred image of a metal tube advancing on him. Then he grinned. Indeed, someone in there was still alive.

"Sanchez, James, solder up the ends of the cables. Maybe that's the problem."  
In no time, the two mentioned deckhands began to detach the minicomputer from the cables and started working on them with a blowtorch. When they were finished, they reconnected the mini computer and Tyrol picked up the handset.

"This is Chief Tyrol. Can you hear me?"  
Tension spread as all held their breaths, waiting for someone to finally respond. Daniel stood in the midst of this foreign men and women. He didn't know them, had nothing in common with them. They didn't even share the same universe. But now, at this moment between hope and fear, he felt like they all belonged together.

* * *

Inside the destroyed hangar, almost everyone had huddled on the floor. The heat from the fire was spreading and the smoke getting thicker and thicker. O'Neill hovered near the hatch, always ready in case something positive would happen. He appeared calm and confident, but Sam thought she could see that a lot of it was just a façade he kept up for the young, non-commissioned officers.

So, when from somewhere near the door suddenly a crackling voice reached them, even the disciplined Major needed a second to react. First he stared in disbelief at the direction the voice came from, then he turned to the others.  
"See, told ya' so."  
With his humorous comment, he managed to generate a few laughs. Not so much out of humor, rather as a method to deal with the bottled-up fear.

"I repeat, this is Chief Tyrol. If you can hear me, then take the frakking handset!" rang out the voice again, this time vigorously. Beside Sam, Boomer put her hand over her mouth in surprise and muttered almost lovingly 'Chief'.  
"Hey Tyrol, nice to hear from you. How 'bout you get us out of here. I'm not into smoked meat." O'Neill answered and couldn't hide a smile of relief.  
"CAG, is that you?"  
"Yep. Me, Boomer and about 30 of your deckhands."  
Agitated voices could be heard from the other side of the hatch, as Tyrol obviously discussed what should be done with his helpers.  
"Okay, there's good news and bad news. The good thing is, we're convinced that there is a way to disable the lockout. The bad news is, you have to manually bypass the fire protection systems. We detected the reason for the malfunction inside the hangar."

"Oy. Sounds like fun." Sighed O'Neill and wiped soot and sweat from his forehead. "Okay, what can I do?"  
"I don't know how it looks inside, but I can imagine. I strongly suggest that this is a job for two. Is there anyone who can help you?"  
Jack took a moment and let his eyes wander around the hangar. About 30 pairs of panic-stricken eyes stared back at him, silently demanding and expecting that he would get them out. Although they were all well trained deckhands, most of them were far too young to withstand such a massive pressure. Accordingly, they crouched on the floor, afraid that he'd force one of them to come with him. They knew their workplace in end out and realized that the stationary console for the fire fighting systems was in the back of the hangar. O'Neill glanced in the direction. The way was littered with wrecked Raptors, debris and scattered tools. Halfway, a maintenance bridge had collapsed and crushed a Raptor. Behind the damaged bridge, a reddish light flickered dangerously. The fire. If they wanted to get out alive, someone had to get very near to the burning fire. And someone was code word for Major Jack O'Neill.

Again, he looked around. Scrutinized every face. Nobody appeared to be physically or mentally able to help him. Normally, Boomer was his first choice. Apart from him, she was the highest ranking officer. But the way she clutched her arm like it was a broken wing, she wouldn't be a big help. No, he'd made up his mind. He would go alone.

"Dammit." He muttered when he realized his questionable fortune. He had to do this alone and this tour probably came without a return ticket. But there was nothing else he could do. It was his damn job.  
"Negative Chief. I'll go alone."  
Again, muttering on the other end of the line.  
"Sir, I strongly recommend that you at least take one additional person. You may not reach the console alone, let alone getting back in one piece."  
Jack knew that himself and it took all his strength not to snap at the Chief. He himself, was strangely okay with the prospect of not surviving this. If he was able to get all the others in safety, his life was a small price to pay. Maybe the horror of the last day made itself known in his mind, but it felt like he was living with borrowed time anyway. So many had died during the attacks on their colonies and if Tigh wouldn't have send him out to get those two terror suspects, he'd be among the dead. He was sure of that.  
"I told you Chief, I have to gone alone."  
He could hear Tyrol sigh. "Wait a moment, Sir." He answered and then shouted out to his deckhands. "Someone bring me that damned wiring diagram!"

While the Chief made preparations, O'Neill used that time to wave Boomer discreetly to him.  
"Okay Lt., I'll take care of our little problem. In the meantime, I want you to ensure that everyone stays calm. Make sure that they stay on the floor and away from the smoke as long as possible. When Tyrol and his guys open the hatch, you'll get everyone out. Can I count on you staying behind until everyone is safe?"  
The young pilot swallowed hard, but still nodded. Albeit reluctantly. "What about you, Sir?"  
"Don't worry about me. Your only responsibility is getting everyone and yourself into safety. Are we clear?"  
Boomer looked like she wanted to cry. She'd already left Helo behind. Everything in her baulked against doing it again. That both men had offered voluntarily to sacrifice themselves, didn't calm the little voice in her head, whispering to her that she was a disgusting coward. But an order was an order.  
"Okay, sir. You can count on me."

When he could be sure that Boomer understood the importance of her role, Jack waited for Tyrol to instruct him. Inwardly, he prepared himself for what he had to do. He was so focused on his thoughts, that he startled when a hand touched his harm. It was the blond woman. What was her name again? Sam? He was pretty sure that Jackson had called her Sam. This mystery solved, what did she want from him? Apparently this question had been clearly readable in his eyes, because she answered in a confident voice.  
"I'm coming with you." She said firmly, putting her hands resolutely on her hips. She was standing in front of him like someone used to do things her own way. Someone who knew very well that she could blow off every contradiction with a clever argument of her own. But she was barking up the wrong tree, here. He could be just as stubborn.

"No chance, missy." He refused and attached his bossy CAG face that clearly said 'You better get outta my way or I'll roll over you'. Sadly for him, she was immune to his super powers.  
"You heard the Chief. This is a job for two." She argued, crossing her arms over her chest tenaciously.  
"I said no. It's too dangerous."  
"And it's not dangerous to risk suffocating in the smoke before you even reach the console, just because you want to massage your ego? If you fail, we'll all die."  
Jack opened his mouth so say something smart, but had to acknowledge that she had hit the nail on the head. Why did the woman have to sound so damn logical and why in hell was he even listening? After all, she still was a terror suspect. But on the other hand, she didn't behave like one. If he didn't knew better, he'd say he had a fellow officer in front of him.

"You're not qualified for that." He retorted, but she had already another counter-argument ready.  
"Oh, is that what you think? Believe me, I've been in dozens of situations just like this and I survived them all. What does that tell you?"  
O'Neill's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Where and how could she have accumulated such an experience? The fleet hadn't suffered from a comparable incident in decades and the civilian space travel worked almost accident-free. Maybe she'd worked on a cargo vessel or a tyliummine? It was known that some of the operators didn't particularly care about safety precautions.  
"Normally, I'd gladly argue with you for hours, we can even arm wrestle if you like that better, but I'm afraid we don't have the time." She threw back at him.

Jack grinned in surprise. Arm wrestling? He had to give her that, she had humor and sounded like her words weren't just hot air. She seemed absolutely confident of her abilities and that was much more than he could say about the nco's cowering on the floor. He felt himself swaying, changing his mind. She was stubborn, she was self-confident, she seemed to be physically fit and most of all she volunteered. _Oh the heck, why not?  
_ "Okay." He gave in after all, but raised an admonishing finger when she smiled at him triumphantly. Why the hell was she smiling about the prospect of stumbling over a hot pile of rubble? Slowly, but surely, the presumption crept up in him that Sam, or whatever her name was, was not a terrorist at all, just plain crazy.  
"You do exactly as I tell you? Got that?" He relented to the urge to remind her again of his superiority, because she looked a little too victorious for his taste.  
"We'll see." She countered so mischievously, that Jack couldn't help but to reciprocate her grin. Yup, she was definitely crazy and as he was grinning back so stupidly, that Jack was sure he wasn't far behind in the craziness-scale.

"Major O'Neill, are you still there?" Tyrol's voice came from the intercom. With a pointed nod, O'Neill motioned the woman over to him. He was standing left of the speaker while superwoman stood at the right. They had to put their heads together to understand Tyrol's precise instructions. Doing so, they were forced to look into each others eyes and Jack had to think a long time until it occurred to him, where he had seen such an intense blue the last time. It had been at a mountain lake on Aquaria. His home planet, now contaminated like the rest of their civilization. He'd probably never see something else that came close to this kind of blue than the eyes of this mysterious woman he had to trust, although he was pretty sure that she'd lost all her marbles somewhere along the way.

* * *

Despite everyone waiting quietly in the corridor, the tension of those present was almost physically perceptible. Chief Tyrol was leaning with both arms at a console and waited, eyes closed, for something to happen. It had been about 10 minutes since he'd explained Major O'Neill how he could activate the fire fighting systems manually from inside the hangar. Usually, it took about a minute to reach the regarding console, another 15 seconds to chose the right menu and then roughly 30 seconds before the computer systems started working. But there was probably an utter chaos in the hangar. They would have to give the CAG more time, Tyrol knew that. But if the systems wouldn't fire up soon, they'd have to seriously think about the alternative. The Chief dreaded that moment, especially because of Boomer being trapped too. He let his head rest against the cool material of the wall as he tried to concentrate on something else. There was nothing he could do anyway.

In the meanwhile, Daniel had found himself a place on the ground. His leg ached and made it hard for him to stand up. But he still refused to go to the infirmary. He wouldn't leave until Sam was safe. But time was dragging on and on and on. Daniel knew his stressed nerves were slowly caving out his mind, but it felt like they'd been waiting for hours now. Occasionally, they could hear the impacts of explosions as the fight was still going on in space. If Galactica's pilots were winning or losing, no one could know.

Unannounced, a roaring voice penetrated the sensitive silence among the helpers.  
"What the frak is going on here?" shouted a man wearing a blue uniform, buttoned up wrong by the way. He was tall, lanky and almost bald. His long, skinny arms swung in tune with his strict pace as he hurried straight for Chief Tyrol. Daniel couldn't help but think, that the guy's pronunciation was wrong. He spoke the vowels in a strange way, sloppy and blurry, as if his mouth was full of cotton wool.

The Chief practically jumped and stood ramrod straight in front of the newcomer. Presumably his superior officer.  
"Colonel Tigh, Sir! We're working on getting the fire-fighting systems back online."  
The tall officer who had now received a name, let his eyes slide searchingly around. He reminded Daniel of a giant vulture. What Tigh saw, was indeed men and women with all sorts of tools in their hands and determined faces. But, no one of them was actually doing something, like working.  
"I don't see you making any progress. What the fuck are you and your deckhands doing down here? We've been trying bring in the flight pods."  
All color drained from Tyrol's face.  
"You're preparing a jump?"  
"Yes. We're jumping as soon as the last pilots are back. We're sitting ducks right now."  
"But Colonel, we can't use the FTL drive with flight pods outside and the systems won't accept the order to pull them in until the fire's extinguished." The Chief said with a voice of a man who anticipated trouble.  
Tigh twisted his mouth annoyed.  
"I know that! The Commander knows that! That's why I'm here." He said grimly and his words suggested something heavy.

Chief Tyrol sensed it too, and raised his hands soothingly. "Sir, Major O'Neill and Boomer are in there. They're trying to boot the fire fighting systems manually. If you'd just give them some more time I'm sure…."  
Tigh snorted. "Time is one of the things that we don't have. Our birds are out there and they are shot down like clay pigeons protecting the Galactica. And here you are, advising me to wait for two people."  
"35 people are in there, Sir. Most of them fresh out of training." Tyrol pleaded with his superior.  
While the two men discussed what to do next, Daniel watched the confrontation with growing interest. He didn't really know what exactly they discussed, but he sensed that it was something with big consequences. Somehow, he was absolutely sure that the outcome of this talk would decide whether Sam and the others would get out alive.

"The president could be in there, for all I care. Think this through Tyrol! We're talking about just 35 people in the hangar. More than 3000 people on this ship will die if we don't do something and the fire reaches the fuel pipes! Do you understand? I want you to immediately activate decompression of the left flight pod. That's an order, Chief!"  
Decompression? Daniel had heard that phrase before. If he remembered right, this Colonel wanted to vent the hangar. Something fateful settled in the pit of his stomach. The vented air had to go somewhere. Oh no, if decompression of the hangar included opening airlocks to get rid of the oxygen, and therefore extinguishing the fire, it would mean that every one who was locked in there would die either suffocating or being sucked out of an opened airlock. Chief Tyrol's protest confirmed his suspicion.  
"But, they'll all die during venting. They've got no chance! You can't do this!"  
But Tigh was adamant. "I said, seal off the affected areas and start the emergency venting of all compartments."  
"Why don't we give them a little more time. Please, Sir!"  
"Don't frakking plead with me. I gave you an order! I'll do it myself, if you're too frightened to do your job."

Chief Tyrol and Colonel Tigh stared at each other. The Chief clenched his fists, struggling with his morality and his duty. But it was a short fight. He looked away guiltily and Daniel realized, that the other man wouldn't disregard a direct order. He knew from his own experience with the military, that non commissioned officers found it particularly hard to even think about insubordination. Although it was clear to see how much Tyrol wanted to say no, he would still do it in the end.

But Daniel wasn't a member of the Colonial Forces. He wasn't even part of this universe. In addition, he had already the prospect of death penalty hovering over him, he'd been forced to watch the total destruction of an entire civilization and moreover, he possessed a gunshot wound in his leg. With so much bad luck on his side, it was almost impossible to dig himself any deeper into shit than he already was. How much worse could it get for him? Chief Tyrol had his career to loose, if he disobeyed the order. But Daniel would lose something much more important, if no one intervened. As far as he could tell, the way back home was blocked with many obstacles. Who knew if he'd ever get back again? Sam was the only thing left of his life. She was his best friend, his resourceful ally, an unyielding supporter and strong shoulder to lean on. He wanted, no, he couldn't lose her now. And he sure as hell wasn't willing to sit back and watch while cold hearted Colonel Tigh signed her death warrant.

Strengthened by these thoughts and boosted by fear of loss, he suddenly jumped up and pushed two men out of his way. He saw himself raising his arm, as if he was standing outside his own body. Daniel wouldn't describe himself as aggressive or overly violent man. He preferred to discuss conflicts, rather than use his fists. But what did it matter now, what he preferred? He was only thinking about Sam, and about the fact, that Jack would be so proud if he could see him now. Jack would have cheered him on, he was sure of that as he took a swing. His fist made hard contact with the cheekbone of the gruff Colonel. The thin man had just enough time to set up a completely perplexed face when the archaeologist's blow collided with this face out of nowhere. Tigh stood dazed for a second and everyone in the corridor didn't dare to even breath, then the Colonel simply tipped backwards. Falling like a sack of rice.

Not one of the surrounding crewmembers thought about catching their superior. They were far too surprised that a man no one of them knew who he was or what he was doing here, had displayed the guts to do exactly what they wished to do secretly. Daniel had knocked the hated Colonel Tigh off his feet.

Jackson rubbed his arching hand and felt Tyrol's eyes on him. The Chief stared at him with open approval. The rest of the crew wore matching faces and Daniel thought that some of them were barely keeping themselves from applauding him. He cleared his throat, because he didn't like it that everyone was staring.  
"How much time is left until this ship…?" Daniel broke off as he realized that he had no clue how to finish the sentence. There was so little he knew about this universe with certainty.  
"Explodes?" The Chief helped him out and continued. "I'd say, five, six minutes maximum. If the Major hasn't managed to get the fire fighting systems back online until then, we'll have to do what Colonel Tigh ordered."  
Daniel nodded his head. He knew, that his physical effort had bought Sam and Major O'Neill a few more minutes. But when that time was over, the lives of over 3000 crewmembers inevitable had priority over the few souls inside the hangar. What those extra time would cost him, he'd surely find out later. After all, he'd just sandbagged a Colonel. But he hoped, that it was not in vain.

* * *

An electric spark flew her way from the console next to her head and Sam had to jump back to avoid being burned. The back of her head collided with Major O'Neill's sternum and the grunted, as his body absorbed the bounce. She felt his hand on her back as he pushed her on and helped her climbing over the slippery cockpit of a destroyed Raptor. Her feet landed on the other side and found, fortunately, firm grip immediately.

They were fighting their way trough the rubble that once had been a fully functional hangar deck. They scrambled over broken Raptors, fallen ceiling beams and pushed their way through a mass of smoking headlights and scattered tools. It was tedious, hot and stuffy.

The Major came, half falling half skidding, to a halt beside her and let his gaze wander.  
"Oh boy! I'm too old for this shit!" He assessed and Sam had to agree with him. They had barely managed half the distance, still it wasn't getting easier. Directly in front of them, broken down and shattered into many pieces, a maintenance bridge blocked their way.

But it didn't matter, they had to go on. One after the other, they shoved their bodies trough a narrow passage between the remnants of the bridge and the wall. They couldn't help but notice, how the metal was heating up around them. Their path was leading them past and in a near vicinity of the burning fire. Because it was his ship, and he was familiar with the hangar in spite of the debris, Major O'Neill took the lead. He circled another toolbox, then stopped as if rooted to the spot. Sam stood on tiptoes, to see over his right shoulder.

To their right was a balcony. It ran parallel to the wall and was secured by a chain railing, so that nothing and no one could accidently fall from there to the hangar. And said chains were currently the only reason why the whole deck hadn't already exploded. On the balcony, stood a big, lonely metal rack. The impact of the atomic bomb on the left flight pod had knocked it over, so that it was only stabilized and kept from falling down by those chains. But not the metal shelve itself was dangerous, but what was loaded. A small missile was laying sideways on one of the shelves and threatened to tumble down, should the metal chains around the rack yield for any reason.

"Frak." Commented O'Neill as he stared at the explosive device right in front of them.  
"If that thing comes down…" he started and raised his eyebrows.  
"Kaboom?" Sam finished the thought for him.  
"Something like that. Come on, we gotta hurry."

Slowly and with cautious steps, they crossed the path directly under the dangerous missile. The ship creaked all around them, making it hard to hear something else but the metal's fight against material fatigue.

The Galactica was repeatedly plagued by the vibrations the bullets and rockets of the Cylon ships caused. Every time the ship trembled, the missile above them rolled a tiny bit further. All of a sudden, there was a loud boom and everything around them shook as if they were driving a car down a bumpy road. The material of the outer skin groaned under the strain as the ship tipped to the side.

As soon as O'Neill and Carter understood what was happening, their worried glances met the shelve above them. As if in slow motion, they watched as the metal rack tipped over some more. The missile caught speed and rolled over the shelf and was falling down. Sam widened her eyes and sharply inhaled the smoky air. Her eyes lost sight of the missile when she felt something push her back roughly and her legs hit a toolbox behind her. Sam stumbled and her hand couldn't catch hold in time. She found herself lying on the floor, her fingers flailing and groping for something. She found a round metal and used it to pull herself up again. When she straightened up, Carter searched frantically for the rocket, and for Major O'Neill. There should have been an explosion, and she was curious to find out about the absence of one.

She found Major O'Neill standing among the ruins, about three meters in front of her. His body was bent as he pressed something with hands and arms to his torso. It was the missile.  
"What the hell…" Sam began, then broke off as she noticed anger mixing with her words.  
What an idiot! That was a typically stupid O'Neill maneuver! While it would be the only logical choice to run away from an explosive device, you could count on Jack O'Neill running towards it. This selfish, reckless, insane, suicidal son of a bitch! But sadly for her sanity, he was also a selfless, courageous and self-sacrificing moron and as much as Sam tried, she just couldn't stay angry with him. Not when he had just saved the whole ship and especially not while he was wearing this endearingly silly expression on his face. One that seemed to say 'Hey Mom, look what I found! Can I keep it? I swear I'm not gonna blow something up, at least not deliberately. Pretty please?'

He nodded at her encouragingly. "Go on." He told her and she felt herself shaking her head resolutely.  
"But…" Sam protested. She couldn't just leave him here. Not with an armed weapon in his hands.  
"It's no biggie."  
What? That thing could rip him into pieces, for gods sake and he was telling her 'no biggie'? She definitely hadn't missed his almost naïve recklessness.  
"I'll take care of this cutie and you make sure that we're not sucked into space."  
"What the hell are you talking about?"  
The Major crossed his fingers under the missile for a better grip.  
"If we can't get the fire fighting systems online real quick, the Chief has no other choice but to start decompression of the hangar and then…you know, we go flush out to space." His eyes slid to the wall opposite them and Sam noticed the pressure locks there. Apparently, they could be opened to initiate an emergency venting of the deck to extract oxygen and the artificial atmosphere from nourishing the fire. And if that happened, they would indeed be sucked into space. Not a very quaint idea.  
"I'll be right back." She retorted as she started her way towards the console, forcing herself not to look back at him, although Sam thought she'd heard him saying 'Good girl."

With shaky legs and bursting nerves she struggled through the debris, not considering her own safety. Sam was so focused, that she didn't even feel it when sharp edges grazed and tattered her clothes and skin. Running, jumping, crouching and with a good deal of falling she mastered all obstacles, always listening to the telltale sound of an explosion. Every second the detonation didn't happen, let her hope and gave her strength to believe that she could make it after all.

She almost missed the relevant console, running past it, but at the end the neon red color couldn't been overlooked. Sam narrowed her eyes, took a deep breath to calm her nerves, then touched the screen with calm fingers. The display showed her the register of a pump system and she almost rejoiced with relief. The Chief had explained her how to activate the fire fighting systems as best as he could over the intercom, so she recognized the pump system as the one that transported the fluids to extinguish the fire. It was almost too easy, but considering that Major O'Neill could be ripped in to pieces every second, or that she was just a few moments away from being sucked into space, easy didn't seem to be the fitting word after all.

She touched the screen and a flywheel appeared. Using this, she navigated through the operating menu until she found the fault diagnosis. Carter assigned the computer to perform a complete failure investigation of the fire fighting system. A bar appeared, showing the progress. While it filled antagonizing slowly, Carter tipped with the foot impatiently on the floor. There was less and less time until the crew was forced to start the decompression.

Finally, the display showed her error code '15 FFS 2/3'. Carter rummaged in her memories. The Chief had instructed her that error code 2/3 required a manually bypass of the security systems. She took a deep breath and went to work. Although this systems were new to her, they were build very intuitively and her fingers flew over the display in spite of everything. By the time she was putting on the final touches, the display was totally dirty from the soot and sweat on her fingers. She hit the start button and left the computer to do its calculations. Again a bar. But this time, thankfully, it filled much faster. Once it was full, the screen told her 'all systems ready for use'.

That's it? So easy? Sam was waiting for something to happen. The few seconds seemed to last hours. Then, at last, she heard a loud gurgling sound in the tubes above her head. As if something unwieldy was forced through a too small opening. Then, white foam rained down on her. She caught some of it with her hand and sniffled it. The smell was pungent and chemically. But it did its purpose, and very effectively so. Almost immediately, the smoke disappeared and the air cleared again. Probably a chemical reaction. She stretched, stood on tiptoes and glanced towards the fire source. There, too, the blazing flames subsided slowly. Sam exhaled in relief. They'd cheated the hangman once again, for now. But the day wasn't over yet.

* * *

Daniel massaged his throbbing temples. His leg hurt, too. In the corridor smoldered a tense silence. The minutes went by uneventfully. The Chief had sent two paramedics to bring the unconscious Colonel Tigh to the infirmary. Jackson wondered, when they would come back to throw him into another prison. He had no clue whether the military was allowed to arrest civilians in this society. But even if it was forbidden, maybe there was no institution left to supervise the military actions.

He wasn't religious, although he'd studied many different cultures and religions. He found it fascinating, but above all this his experiences with the Goa'uld had ensured that believing in any kind of supernatural, godlike being wasn't overly tempting for him. Nevertheless, he found himself sitting on the floor like a picture of misery and folding his hands to say a prayer, begging for Sam's live to whoever or whatever would listen to him. He was terrified and ashamed to the same level, that he couldn't bring himself to worry about the others trapped in the hangar as well. But Sam and he were more than just simple friends. She was family, the only part that he had still left of his own reality. It was honestly unimaginable for him to lose her.

When something happened at last, Daniel had problems to see something else but triumphantly risen arms.  
"They did it! They systems are back to normal again!" Shouted the Chief and the corridor exploded in spontaneous applause.  
"Okay, okay, that's enough guys. Back to work." Calmed the Chief again and flailed his arms. "Make some space so we can open the door."  
He nodded to two of his deckhands and they used a large lever to break open the hatch. The men groaned under the effort, but they won the fight against the lock.

The door swung open outwards and a blast of acrid smoke poured into the corridor. Some of the helpers were coughing, but not one thought about stepping back. As the first of their trapped colleagues stumbled out of the hangar, their friends greeted them with helping arms and encouraging pats on the shoulder. Who wasn't able to walk on his or her own, was immediately handed over to the paramedics. The Chief stood at the front, organizing the help. He only lost his self-control, when a young woman hobbled towards him.

She was asian looking and wore one of the flight suits. Her arm seemed injured because she held it protectively against her body. When she saw the Chief, she sagged briefly as if collapsing. Ignoring all other persons around them, she rushed to him and for a fleeting moment, she looked ready to fling her arms around his neck. But then she stopped abruptly and a neutral expression appeared on her face.  
"Hey Chief, thanks for getting us out."  
Chief Tryol swallowed hard and looked her so deeply in the eyes, that Daniel was sure that there was something more than just plain relief about the wellbeing of a colleague. Feelings, they were not allowed to have. He knew those looks.  
"You're welcome. Glad you're okay el-tee."  
The moment between the two was broken as a medic pushed between them to reach a hurt deckhand.

Daniel turned his attention back to the hatch. He was still waiting for a sign of Sam or Major O'Neill. Finally, after it seemed that everyone else had made it out of the hangar okay, he discovered a blonde head in the smoke and he almost lost his balance in sheer relief as he stood up clumsily.  
"Sam!" he called, taking a shaky step towards her as she came through the hatch. She seemed to be okay. Worn out looking, with ripped clothes and soot covered face, but otherwise well and healthy. However, her dismissing posture froze him in mid-motion. With defensive arms and a worried shake of her head, she kept him at distance.

She glanced warily over her shoulder and took a step to the side. The reason for her concern was walking right behind her through the door. It was Major O'Neill. He was walking slightly bent, as if he had a back ache, but the real reason was the heavy thing the was carrying.  
"Is that a missile?" Daniel blurted out in shock and his experience told him, that a Jack O'Neill was capable off all thinkable reckless actions. Sam nodded grimly and somewhat pissed off. Apparently, even she wasn't overly happy about him carrying around a missile like it was a baby.  
"Yes, of course it is." She growled and fired laser-like glances at O'Neill's back, who stood in front of the likewise totally perplexed Chief Tyrol.

"Hey Chief, nice to see ya." Said the Major in a conversational tone. Quite as if he was meeting the younger man for a beer, instead of standing with a warhead before him.  
"Sir?" The Chief uttered, staring at the missile and appearing to be totally taken by surprise.  
O'Neill pursued his lips, looking around thoughtfully. Then he lifted the sensitive explosive device up a bit, moving his upper body cumbersome.  
"Looks like I've got something your people lost. Could you…you know? Take it, I mean? It's gettin a little heavy."  
Tyrol scratched his head baffled. "Oh yeah, Sir. Sure." He snapped his fingers and two of his deckhands came forward, understandably reluctant. They took the missile gently out of the Major's hands, eying him with grim looks as they carried the explosive away.

The Chief escorted his people with watchful eyes until they were out of sight, then he turned back to his superior.  
"The Commander wants to see you immediately at the CIC. We'll jump to Ragnar Station as soon as the FTL is ready."  
Small wrinkles appeared on O'Neill's forehead.  
"Okay, sounds logical. We need ammunition and fuel to cut and run." He speculated, but sounding like he expected the exact opposite.  
Now. it was the Chief furrowing his brow as he shook his head.  
"No. We're not running. The Commander wants to go back and attack the Cylons."  
"What! That's the most stupid thing we could possibly do!" exclaimed the Major alarmed and ran a hand through his short brown hair. He eyed Sam and Daniel shortly as if he expected help from them.  
"Commander Adama wants to support the fleet in the battle. Granted, the Galactica's not in the best condition, but…" began the Chief, but was interrupted quickly.  
"That's the point. There is no fleet to support. Every ship's destroyed."  
Tyrol closed his eyes stubbornly. "That can't be true. I mean, we would know if the fleet was destroyed. We would've received an emergency signal, or…." He broke off uncertainly. His eyes shone with pure rejection of what he had just heard.  
"It's the truth. They're all dead." Explained O'Neill, and then said those frightening six words no one wanted to hear or understand.  
"We are the only ones left."

The Chief leaned back against the wall.  
"We didn't know. The Commander thinks that we're still fighting, that we can still win."  
"He's wrong. We've got no chance. The Colonies are lost. We can only help ourselves."  
Tyrol swayed a little, again shaking his head as if he could thereby hurl the sad truth out of his skull.  
"The whole ship Is preparing of the fight. We even reactivated the museum vipers. The FTL drive is ready in about 15 minutes. We'll jump at any moment."

At these words, Daniel lowered his head and muttered "Oh, no." The last time he'd been in a space ship during such a 'jump', he'd almost barfed on his shoes afterwards. He was seriously afraid that he was developing an allergy for this jumping. He'd also observed how various crewmen responded to the prospect of such a jump. They all looked slightly concerned. As if it was something special that the Galactica would travel this way.

"I'm going to the CIC." He heard the Major say and felt Sam hauling him up. And then they were on their way to this CIC. Nobody stopped them, as they tried to keep up with the jogging Major. The chaos and confusion on the ship made sure that no one noticed two strangers that shouldn't be here at all. O'Neill was running in front of them and he would've probably fallen into a sprint, if he didn't had to constantly dodge other crewmembers. Some of them, he simply knocked over on his way to the CIC.

Sam and Daniel had no other choice but to rush behind. Because of his injury he could only limp, making it hard for them not to loose sight of the faster man. Although the construction of the ship reminded them of an aircraft carrier, they still didn't dare to run around the foreign ship without a guide. They knew how to navigate inside a Goa'uld or Asgard ship, but that was because they also knew almost everything about their culture and technical know-how. This reality, however, was in spite of all the obvious parallels to the greater part unknown to them. The risk was big, that they took a wrong turn and ended up in an opened airlock.

They had no time to memorize any remarkable points. As best as they could, they rushed after O'Neill who took no account of them. It was quite possible, that he hadn't even noticed that they were following him. But for them, it was almost the only logical thing to do. They knew no one here. Despite the fact that Major O'Neill theoretically was a stranger to them too, he was the only one they felt somewhat familiar with. For Sam and Daniel, it was only natural to follow him. After all, they'd spent many long years together following Colonel and later General O'Neill. For them, it had never really mattered where to. They had just that kind of blind trust that made them following him everywhere. Just because he was leading them. That was reason enough.

Finally, after a seemingly not ending sequence of identical looking grey corridors, they reached their destination, the CIC. O'Neill slowed his pace marginally, as he dashed into the big room. All heads present turned to him. Some honestly happy to see him, some confused and at least one grimly. Three men in blue uniforms were standing together at a luminous table in the middle. They stared at the Major expectantly, at the same time appearing to be super important. One of them was Colonel Tigh, who was sporting an impressive colored shiner. Daniel grimaced and tried to hide behind Sam, making himself invisible as much as possible. He wasn't under the impression that the Colonel was a very pleasant guy to be around, especially not when he'd been hit by a civilian. In front of the non-commissioned deckhands, nonetheless.

Sam was looking around with interest. The CIC was clearly the command center. The room was big, about the size of the gateroom. Many half-moon shaped consoles and work stations were arranged on three staggered levels. She lifted her head and discovered, that there was also sort of a balcony directly above them and even this space seemed to be crammed with all kinds of displays and computers. The center was dominated by four large screens. Beneath them was an octagonal table similar to a large, illuminated touch screen.

Sam and Daniel positioned themselves unobtrusively in the background, knowing that they technically had no right to be here, while O'Neill jumped down the few steps to the center console and the three waiting men. He nodded respectfully as he greeted them.  
"Commander Adama, Lt. Gaeta, Colonel Tigh….oh, looking good." He allowed himself a smug comment when he saw Tigh's black eye. The older man just grumbled miserably to himself.

The man he'd called Commander Adama ignored the allusion. He wasn't a very tall man, but there was something about him that inspired utmost respect. Even if you didn't know him. In his blue uniform, standing straight and proud, he looked like the spitting image of a steadfast leader.  
"Major, good to see you alive." His voice was rough and smooth, revealing that he had everything under control.

"Thanks Sir, good to see you too." Said O'Neill and wasted no time getting to the point.  
"Chief Tyrol said you're planning to go back to Caprica."  
The Commander nodded. "Correct. We've just received a distress call from Admiral Negala."  
Jack swallowed hard. "Sorry to tell you this, but the Admiral is dead. The whole fleet is wiped out."

No sooner than he'd uttered those words, all activity in the command center dried up. All eyes were focused on the four men in the middle. Colonel Tigh stared at the Major with wild eyes.  
"What the frak are you talking about, O'Neill. The emergency call's not even 30 minutes old."  
30 minutes. So much had happened. Hard to believe that an entire civilization had been destroyed in that short span of a time.

O'Neill ignored Colonel Tigh and sorely focused on his Commander, talking forcefully to him.  
"I've been there when it happened. The Cylons somehow managed to disable the fleet's systems. All systems failed, every ship was paralyzed. Then they dropped a bunch of nukes on Caprica and I bet they've done the same thing to the other Colonies. Believe me Sir, there is nothing left to fight for." He finished his description of the last hour, looking at his Commander intensely.

Utter confusion immediately filled the CIC. Frightened and unbelieving voices rang out, some shouting and arguing whether the Major was right or not. No one wanted to believe it. After all, they all had family or friends in the Colonies.  
"The entire fleet wiped out! We would know that by now!" argued Tigh and stepped up to O'Neill. His posture spoke clearly of open confrontation. But Galatica's CAG wasn't deterred. Especially when he knew that he was right.  
"Not necessarily. Our systems are bonkers. Something's wrong with them. How can we know that the Cylons aren't feeding us with wrong data?"  
"That's frakking mad! You're crazy!" Shouted the Colonel, his head beet red.  
"With all due respect, Sir." O'Neill defended himself, staring down at the slightly smaller man and his tone indicating that he felt anything but respect for Tigh. "You've not been there. The Cylons caught us with pants down. Nothing's left."  
A bitter grin appeared on the face of the haggard Colonel. "You want to know what I think? I think you're just afraid. You haven't been accountable for months. You and Starbuck are nothing more but a pain in the ass and I…" he grumbled and ended his speech abruptly when he noticed Sam and Daniel. His voice trembled with rage as he pointed accusingly at the archeologist.  
"What the hell is he doing here?! This is the guy who attacked me!" raged Tigh.

O'Neill whirled around to his human cargo, studying Daniel with an appreciative glance. Apparently, Colonel Tigh really wasn't the favorite man on this ship. The Major's undisguised amusement goaded the bald man even more. He waved two uniformed security men over.  
"Take them in the brig. I want to take care of them myself."  
The security guards approached Sam and Daniel, but didn't get very far because O'Neill quickly moved and pushed his tall body in between. The men looked alternately and uncertainly between the Colonel and the Major, clearly not happy to be caught in this verbal fight.  
"If they go anywhere, it's the infirmary. They are my responsibility."

Carter wasn't sure whether the Major's resistance was for their benefit, or just to show Colonel Tigh that he didn't think much of his orders. In any case, it was working. The security guards stepped back. They were smart enough not to interfere in the dispute between the two officers.

Tigh displayed a sardonic grin when he understood who Sam and Daniel were.  
"My goodness O'Neill! Are those the terrorists? And you bring them here? To the Galactica? Now I know that you are completely crazy!" He snapped. But his reprimand showed only moderate success.  
"Oh, should I have thrown them out of the Raptor about halfway?!" was O'Neill's sarcastically answer.

"That's enough!" Commander Adama's commanding voice interrupted. "Quiet, both of you. You're acting like children!"  
Guiltily, both bowed their heads. Around them, the junior officers tried to do their job. But they became increasingly anxious upon watching the two experienced officers quarreling.  
"Sorry Bill, but I won't listen to this crap." Tigh managed to excuse himself and at the same time start a counterattack. You had to give it to O'Neill, that he didn't visibly respond towards the invitation to further dispute.

The simmering fight between the two officers was interrupted by sobs. A young, dark-skinned woman behind a console wiped the tears from her face embarrassed.  
"Lt. Dualla?" Asked the Commander, his voice soft and soothing.  
"Incoming priority message, delayed timecode, Sir." She began and steadied herself on the console, as she read the text on her display. "The Fleet Command announces: Admiral Negala is dead. Battlestar Altantea's been destroyed. So 's the Triton, the Solaria, the Columbia…the, the message is cut off."  
"Try to establish contact." Ordered Adama.  
Dually tapped on the screen, but she had to admit defeat. Her voice was grim, as if she had to force herself to form each word anew. "Scorpia Shipyards…annihilated. All orbital stations…destroyed. We are not receiving any communications from any of the Twelve Colonies. Not even beacons. We're alone."

Major O'Neill refrained from pointing out that this was exactly what he'd been trying to explain. Rubbing salt into an open wound was not his style. It was nothing to boast with.  
Commander Adama took a step towards the center console. He stared thoughtfully at the screens there, then let his eyes wander over the distraught faces in the CIC. Studied his officers, trying to determine what he could expect of them. But it was not about what they might could do, the only thing that counted was what they needed to do. And for him it was clear, that the Galactica didn't admit defeat. This ship had survived the first Cylon War. No one on board of his ship was a coward. They would fight to the last man and if they would go down, so be it. But retreat, that wasn't an option. Never.

He turned to his XO. "We've got no choice. Colonel Tigh, please plot a hyperlight jump from our position to the orbit of Ragnar. Lt. Gaeta, calculate the coordinates. Lt. Dually, prepare everything for an announcement. I'll take over command of the fleet."  
While Tigh grinned, Jack felt like he was talking to a brick wall.  
"But Sir!" He protested and took a step towards his superior. "I think you seriously misunderstand the consequences. If we go back, we'll all die. It's suicide. We need to back off."

Adama let the words sink in, then he literally exploded. But he was not loud or gesturing wildly. Rather, his voice was low and vibrating with anger. He was growling and looking the Major strictly in the eyes.  
"Don't you dare tell me about consequences! Lee was secretary Roslin's escort. I know exactly what the consequences are!"  
Jack held his breath. Lee was Lt. Lee "Apollo" Adama. The commander's only living son. If he'd been part of the pilots that escorted secretary Roslin, who had attended the decommission ceremony, back to Caprica he was most likely dead as well. A normal escort consisted of four Vipers. A civilian ship and four Vipers were no obstacle for the Cylon fleet. The Commander had two sons. Zac, the younger one, had been killed years ago during an airshow and now he had also lost his older son.

"I'm sorry, Sir." Jack stammered. What else could he do? He couldn't even begin to imagine how it felt to lose a kid. Nothing he could say would change that. So he didn't try. He respected Adama too much to torment him with ineffable meaningless words. Adama was a living legend. More that just Commander and mentor. Adama was the embodiment of a leader and O'Neill felt himself give in. This man would die for his ship and his crew and how could he possibly refuse to do any less?

Adama now stood directly in front of him. Whilst the Commander was a good head shorter than his Major, it still felt like he was rising above him.  
"Are you finished now? Can you focus on you job or do I need to replace you?"  
"No Sir."  
"Good."

The Commander turned around, so that he could see the entire CIC.  
"I know you're afraid. But we need to pull ourselves together. We all have lost loved ones today. I know I ask much of you, but I need you, the Twelve Colonies need you. You can grieve later, now it's time to fight back."  
When he saw how his words affected the junior officers, he nodded satisfied. He could always rely on his people. Now he needed to talk to the rest of the crew. Everyone had to prepare and they needed their Commander's guiding words.  
"Dualla, is my line ready?"  
The young woman nodded. She'd stopped crying, instead wearing a resolute expression on her face.

Adama walked to the illuminated table and put a clunky microphone to his mouth. He didn't hesitate and was completely resolved when he spoke.  
"This is the Commander. Moments ago, this ship received word that indeed a Cylon attack against our home worlds is underway. We do not know the size or the disposition or the strength of the enemy forces. But all indications point to a massive assault against colonial defences. Admiral Nagala has taken personal command of the fleet aboard the Battlestar Altantea, following complete destruction of Picon Fleet Headquarteres in the second wave of the attacks. Newest information says that his ship and others are destroyed. How, why- does not matter now. What does matter, is indeed that as of this moment, we are at war. You've trained for this, you're ready for this. Stand to your duties, trust your fellow shipmates, and we'll all get through this. Further updates as we get them. Thank you."

As Commander Adama was speaking, Sam noticed that the words were affecting her too. She was infected by his fearlessness. He was obviously a very special man. An officer that evoked loyalty among those serving with him and inspiring them to top efficiency and beyond. He reminded her a great deal of General O'Neill.

The officers in the CIC straightened up noticeably. They all stood at attention, waiting for their orders. Adama cleared his throat and fixed his XO and CAG with a stern look.  
"We'll jump to Ragnar Station. Colonel, please ensure that everything that can fly is bucked up. Major, I want you to accompany Chief Tyrol's team. Go find me some bullets."  
"Aye, Sir."

The Commander gave Lt. Gaeta a handsign. "Lt. Gaeta, resume jump prep."  
"Resuming jump prep."

O'Neill rejoined his maybe prisoners. His gaze was still worried, but also purposeful. He crossed his arms and stared at Daniel, who leaned on Sam.  
"You better look for something to hold onto. This could get uncomfortable."  
"Why? Aren't you doing this 'jumping' constantly?" Inquired Daniel and grew pale at the prospect of having to witness another one of those 'jumps'.  
O'Neill pursed his lips. "Normally, yes, but…Galatica's last jump was 24 years ago. Let's hope she's not too rusted, eh?"  
"What?!" exclaimed the archeologist, but Jack went on as if he hadn't heard him at all.  
"Plus, when Gaeta miscalculates even a tiny little bit, we could end up in the sun. And then….boosh…sunburn."  
He said it as if it was no big deal and punched Daniel matey on the shoulder.  
"It'll go all right." Concluded the taller man, winking at them.

"Attention on all decks: jump prep underway. Set condition two throughout the ship. Set condition two throughout the ship." Geate spoke via intercom. His fingers darted across the keyboard and Daniel hoped that he had triple checked the coordinates.  
"The board is green. Ship ready to jump, Sir."  
Adama clasped his hands behind his back.  
"Execute the jump, Lt. Gaeta."

Daniel hung his head in misery. "Oh, I hate this." He whined when the terrible feeling of being folded up returned to his body.

* * *

A/N: Some of you might have noticed that I use 'minutes' as time unit, despite using the term 'centon' as a synonym for minutes in chapter 6. At first I planned to use the units of time from Battlestar Galactica TOS to strengthen the aspect that Sam and Daniel now have to deal with a different culture and society. But during translating, I realized that I was just confusing myself and concluded, that it could be counterproductive to use the fictional time units. So, I decided that the Colonists will use the usual time units.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hi guys. Here's the next chapter, but just a short one this time. Not much action, it rather serves as connection link between chapter 8 and chapter 10. Hope you still like. By the way, thanks a million for all your nice reviews. I honestly didn't expect so much positive reactions.

PS: The chapter's title is 'going native'. Going native is a term used, among others, in anthropology or sociology. It means the method of participant observation. The explorer doesn't just study the situation he's interested in, but he or she takes an active part in it. Like, not just watching a rain dance, but dancing along with the natives. But it's also a term used to describe the danger of identification with the observed situation and therefore losing objectivity.

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Chapter 9: Going native

* * *

At the end, Colonel Tigh got his will, well kind of. Right after their 'jump', Daniel and Sam were summoned by a group of security guards, removed from the CIC and escorted to the infirmary. Accordingly to the events of the last hours, there was an unholy chaos in the hospital ward. Almost every spot was filled with, often badly, injured crewmembers.

The infirmary was about three times as big as the one in the SGC. Lined up along the walls stood metallic beds with thin foam mattresses, including the obligatory plastic curtains to provide some privacy. At the other end of the room, a part was separated from the rest and also covered with plastic sheeting. The beams of surgical lights gleaming through the sheer material, betraying the fact that someone was forced to perform an emergency operation. A woman in a white coat rushed past them and towards the operating room, carrying several blood bottles in her arms.

Apart from the medical staff inside the operating romm, there were four more crewmembers who apparently had a medical education. They made their rounds through the mass of injured people. Armed with nothing more but a pen and their eyes, they worked on identifying the injured and distinguishing between life threatening and less severe injuries by marking the patients with signs representing the different injury grades. Seriously injured crewmembers were brought into another area, appearing to be temporarily separated with grey folding screens. Probably because the less injured shouldn't notice the possible struggle for life and death that was taking place right next to them. Those who could still work had to stay focused and shouldn't be distracted. And certainly not confronted with the death of their friends and colleagues. Or with the possibility of their own demise.

The two security guards had left immediately after they had delivered their 'prisoners' to the infirmary. So it was up to Sam to help Daniel with finding a place in the hustle and bustle of the wounded. There were so many with worse injuries than Daniel's gunshot wound, but Sam's focus was still on her friend.

She dragged him to a free bed and helped him with his injured leg. Daniels face contorted in pain as he hauled himself onto the cot. At least, the pain was good for something. It helped to dispel the rest of confusion and derangement. His eyes were clear and alert while he looked around curiously.  
"We are so good at getting into trouble." His comment was only part sarcastic, there was a good dose of honest frustration in it too.  
Sam nodded in agreement and stepped aside when two men in orange jumpsuits passed them, carrying a third one between them. They hoisted him on a cot near and helped him out of the uniform, throwing the fabric carelessly to the floor. Immediately, a woman in a white coat took up a position beside them.

She inspected the burns on his upper body and then searched for someone specific. When she found him, she waved him over animatedly.  
"Dr. Cottle! Do you have time to make a diagnosis?"  
The man called Cottle had just emerged between the plastic sheets of the separated operating area. He was old. Sam appreciated his age at the end of 60, maybe even a bit older. His hair was completely white and deep wrinkles graced his forehead and mouth. Apparently, he was a surgeon. His clothes were covered in blood.

When he heard the woman call to him, he stripped of the used gloves and let them fall on the floor. He didn't appear to be overly happy as he approached them.  
"What is it?" He asked, clearly in a bad mood.  
"A superficial burn, but I'm not sure whether…"  
He brusquely interrupted her. "The man will survive. Give him a dose morpha and that's it. I've got bigger fishes to fry."  
Then, without a further glance or word, he simply walked away, lighting a cigar instead. Sam and Daniel looked at each other confused. The archeologist asked her silently to let this particular grumpy cup pass him, but his friend was adamant. Someone qualified had to take a look at his gunshot wound. With the opportunity to get said help without further ado, Sam left his side and blocked the rude doctor's way.

Dr. Cottle took the cigar out of the corner of his mouth and eyed her grimly.  
"Lady, who are you?"  
She choose to ignore the surly salutation.  
"My friend has a gunshot wound. He needs help."  
"Well, he's got to wait in line." He growled back and tried to walk past her. Quick as a flash, her hand darted out and grabbed his white coat. Carter couldn't quite believe it. A doctor who apparently didn't care much about the welfare of his patients. This guy was no comparison to Janet Fraiser's dutiful way. After all, she wasn't demanding some kind of special treatment for Daniel. But from experience she knew, that in especially hectic situation you had to be persisted to get what you wanted.  
"It'll take you just a moment to look at him. We won't bother you further."

The doctor rolled his eyes, but still gave in. Mumbling something like "damned hypochondriacs", he pulled Daniel's shredded pant leg aside. He didn't bother to put out his cigar, clenching it between his teeth. Instead, he blew a gust of smoke their way. Unmotivated, he examined the wound.  
"Your work?" he asked with a quick glance at Carter as he removed the bandage. His voice was muffled.  
"Yes." She replied confidently. She knew it was a good bandage. A little battered certainly, but she was convinced that there was nothing wrong with her technique. After all, she'd treated many wounds over the last years.  
The old man just grunted in reply.  
"Exit wound?"  
Again, she said yes and apparently he trusted her information. Anyhow, he didn't question her assessment.

Daniel groaned when the doctor suddenly put his finger in the wound. Literally.  
"Hurts?"  
Jackson's eyes widened in disbelief and he wondered, what kind of doctor this guy really was. He must've skipped all classes concerning sympathy and sensitivity.  
"Yes!"  
"Good. Means the tissue's not necrotic."  
Daniel snorted. "And that's supposed to be good?" He asked because he wasn't sure what the gruff doctor was telling him.  
But Dr. Cottle had already turned away. He reached into a shelf above his head and slammed additional bandages on Daniel's lap.  
To Sam he said "You friend will survive it. He needs a new bandage, though. Call me again if the wound suppurates or something sticks out strangely."  
Without waiting for her answer, he walked on, grumbling on his way and leaving behind just the smell of his cigar.

Skeptically, Daniel touched the bandages and looked after the most cranky physician he'd ever met.  
"The medical staff is not what it used to be." He commented dryly, fiddling with the plastic wrap of the gauze. Sam took the package from his hands and casually began to apply a new dressing.  
"He's definitely an original."

Because there was no one around she could ask, Sam helped herself and grabbed a bottle with a transparent liquid from one of the operating tables. She studied the imprint of the ingredients, but couldn't identify all of them. She took the cap of and sniffed it. Definitely a antibacterial disinfectant and exactly what she was looking for.  
"Good stuff?" Daniel wanted to know and Sam noticed delighted, that her unconventional test method amused him. That was a good thing. Whiny Daniel was seldom seen, but when he was, it was almost unbearable.  
"Best kind of to taste?"

Daniel blinked with a somewhat tortured looking smile, but still gave her a go. He knew that would hurt. In anticipation of the pain when the disinfectant would touch his open wound, he buried his hands in the thin foam mat. He inhaled sharply when Sam dripped the liquid on his skin.  
"I'm sorry." She apologized with a whisper, although she had no reason to feel sorry. He was happy that she was treating his wound.  
"Is this okay?" Sam asked as she carefully applied the clean bandage. He nodded again and she wrapped the entire fabric around his leg and fixed the end with a metallic clip. Exhausted, he dropped his head on the thin pillow.

It had been a long day. His eyes were threatening to shut, although it was loud and still hectic in the infirmary. He wanted nothing more but to sleep, his body demanding rest. But he couldn't. His mind wouldn't let him. Under the greatest effort, he tried to comprehend what had happened to them today. What kind of consequences they faced. But the dimensions were difficult to grasp. It wasn't foreseeable what would happen from now on. Who were they fighting, and why? Who were the goody guys and who the bad ones? Was good and bad even a definition that could be maintained in this universe? Had the whole civilization really been wiped out and what did it mean for his and Sam's fate? Questions, his head was full of questions. But no answers in sight. And there was not much they could do themselves. This wasn't their universe, their reality, planet or even military. They were completely helpless and at these people's mercy. There seemed to be nothing else for them to do than waiting until someone came to speak to them.

And then, there was also Jack. Or rather, the Jack O'Neill of this reality. It was important to maintain this distinction. Daniel didn't want to make the mistake of confusing this man with his once best friend. They were not the same, he had to keep that in mind. Certainly, at first glance, there were many similarities. A responsible rank in the military, pilot, sarcastic, moody, dutiful and with a big problem concerning authority, apparently especially with Colonel Tigh. Nevertheless, they couldn't follow their hopes and assume that he would, or could, automatically understand their situation and help them. Although they'd made some experience with meeting their doppelgangers from different universes, there was nothing guaranteeing them that this Jack wasn't cunning and dangerous. Perhaps he was even part of the military forces that had started this war? Under no circumstances, should they let themselves be fooled by the identical looks. They were completely on their own, that's why Sam and he had to remain vigilant and critical.

But as he looked at Sam out of half-closed eyes, he was not sure that they were currently thinking the same thoughts. Something told him that his long-time colleague and friend had already started to lose her objectivity. At the same time, her military shaped instinct was important for them right now.

She leaned her hip on the hospital bed, watching the hustle and bustle in the infirmary. There was something gauging and plotting in her eyes. Small wrinkles formed at the corners of her mouth when she frowned. Yes, he knew that look. Without a doubt, she was planning something. This was her secretive facial expression.  
"So, what are we going to do now? Do you have a plan?" Daniel tried to attract her attention. She didn't respond to his question. Instead, she seemed to be interested in the two deckhands that were busy holding down their injured colleague until help came. Was she thinking about helping herself?  
"Sam? Sam!" He called to her with vigor and finally received a response. She blinked and looked at him.  
"What did you say?"

Daniel stifled the urge to snap at her. He was tired, hungry and in pain and it didn't look like something of that would improve anytime soon. His patience was severely affected. Honestly, he neither had the desire nor he strength to repeat himself.  
"I asked if you have a plan?"  
She eyed him quizzically, as if she didn't understand his words. He began to worry about her. Was she suffering from a head injury she'd gotten while being locked up in the flight pod? This mental absence was not typical for her.  
"What should we do now?" He clarified his question. "Are you all right?"  
Sam combed a hand through her short blond hair and nodded casually.  
"Yes, everything all right."

He wanted to ask again if she was sure that everything was okay, when there was a loud wailing. The injured man with the burns, which had to be restrained by his colleagues, had started to sob painfully. Just as the nurse wanted to give him a shot, he yelled something about being okay. Assuring it was just a superficial injury and that he had to get back to his team. He insisted on being fit enough to travel with this fellow deckhands to Ragnar Station. He was struggling until the nurse could finally sink the syringe in his vein. Daniel guessed that the pain made him aggressive and he could understand that, as he looked back at Sam and noticed that she was absent again.

"Sam! Could you for a change focus on us?"  
He knew he was barking at her, yet couldn't do something against it. But his harsh tone was working.  
"Daniel, stop yelling at me."  
He counted to ten in his mind and used those seconds to calm down a bit. Quarrelling wouldn't help them.  
"I just wanted to know, if you have any idea what we should do now?"

To his astonishment, she said yes.  
"Yes, I have." She told him so casually, that he almost missed it. It took him by surprise, that she indeed seemed to have a plan. For a moment, he stared at her open mouthed. His anger at her displayed disinterest vanished as he was once again surprised by her ingenuity.  
"Oh, really?" he uttered eventually. "And what do you have in mind?"  
She grinned in reply and he didn't know what to think of it.  
"Information gathering. Going native, as the anthropologist would say." She explained cryptically.

Before he could ask what she meant by that, he had to watch speechless as she strode confidently to the injured, now immobilized and sedated man, and grabbed his carelessly tossed to the floor uniform. As if it was the most normal thing for her to do, she came back to him and began to slip into the orange jumpsuit. His eyes widened in surprise. He stared alternately at Sam and the other people around, because he feared that someone would notice what she was doing. But everyone was so busy, that they had no time to glance a second time at the two strangers. By the time she pulled up the zipper and was now dressed entirely in an oil-smeared uniform, he'd found his voice again.

Stunned, he gesticulated towards her new clothes.  
"What are you doing?"  
"I'll take a look around."  
"What? Now? Here?" he exclaimed. Surely, she didn't plan to walk around all alone among this total chaos?  
"Yes, yes and yes. We've done that many time before. I disguise myself in the typical clothing of the indigenous and mingle." She stated and smiled at him winningly, tried to convince him of her plan.  
Daniel shook his head stubbornly. "That's not quite the same thing."  
"Why? Because this is a spaceship and not a rural village?"  
"No, because you're all alone, without back up."  
Now, she avoided his eyes and tugged at the right sleeve of her new uniform. This ugly, orange thing was too big for her.  
"I don't intent to wander around aimlessly."

Daniel took a moment to think about her words. He understood that she had an infallible sense of direction. She always found her way around Goa'uld ships. But that was also a result from her experience and Jolinar's memories. Still, he couldn't imagine that she already knew this ship inside out. She hadn't seen more than him. Well, perhaps they could find their way back to the CIC and on their way to the infirmary they'd passed a compartment appearing to be a docking station, but otherwise….oh, wait a minute! He gave in the urge to roll his eyes when he realized what exactly was included in her so called plan.

"I don't think that's a good idea." He pointed out and Sam could hear in his tone that he knew what she wanted to do.  
"But we need to find out more about the situation and this people. And, for me, it looks like we can only help ourselves. No matter what we plan to do, we can't do it without more information." She tried to convince him of the merits of her fact-finding mission. But he wasn't easily deterred.  
"And you think you can do this by following O'Neill to this Ragnar Station?"  
"He is the only person we know and can trust."  
"We don't know that!" he argued and appealed to her common sense. "Don't let yourself be blinded by looks. This man is not Jack."  
"I know that!" she retorted, also sounding frustrated and turning the tables with her next words. "You got a better idea?"  
As much as Daniel struggled, his brain didn't come up with something. "Not really, but…"  
"I definitely won't sit around while someone is shooting at us." Sam explained stubbornly.  
"Sam, think about it. Whoever this enemy is, they're not really shooting at us. They're fighting with these Colonialists. We don't belong here and we can't know who is aggressor and who is victim. I don't know if it is wise to interfere." Daniel tried to make her keep in mind that this wasn't their war, but she quashed his objection with a defensive gesture.  
"But we are here, on this ship with these people. And if we don't want to die, we need to help them."

From this perspective, her chain of reasoning sounded pretty plausible.  
"Nobody knows us. For gods sake, they think we're terrorists, Sam! They'll never accept your help." He tried again.  
"I know. That's why I'm pretending to be one of them. Look around. The whole ship is one big mess. Fat chance that they don't even notice that I'm not part of their team."  
Daniel eyes his friend. He knew her well enough to interpret the defiant look on her face correctly. She would carry out her plan and there was nothing he could say or do to keep her from doing this.  
He rubbed his burning eyes, his limp shoulders testifying surrender.  
"Be careful, okay? Don't even think about leaving me alone here."  
Sam grabbed his hand and squeezed tight.  
"It's just a little trip." She calmed him, knowing full and well that it was not just that.

They'd accidently stumbled into a full blown war. This was about life and death, literally. Possible, that she wouldn't come back. Anything could happen. She nodded encouragingly at him, spontaneously kissing his cheek in an attempt to cheer him up. Then, she left the infirmary. Daniel looked after her for a long time, hoping that he would see her again.


	10. Chapter 10

Hi guys! This chapter has Carter getting into trouble again, but she learned from the best, right? But don't worry for her safety, I won't try to blow her up every time. Just once in a while.

* * *

Chapter 10: Ragnar Station

Sam entered the corridor without hesitation. She was sure that this was the right thing to do. Joining a group of men and women in green and orange overalls, presuming that they belonged to the unit that would work at the Ragnar Station, she started her field work. None of them paid any attention at her or realized that she wasn't part of the crew. Carter was able to mingle with the group undisturbed. And that was what she needed. She had spent many hours on various space ships, but this one seemed to be the biggest by far. The dark corridors looked confusingly similar, leading in all different directions. The subtle and ever-present humming of the machines made her feel like walking in a giant submarine. It was probably easy to get lost. So she followed the others, trying to fit into her new surroundings.

On the left, they passed a hall. The door was open and she instantly wished she hadn't risked looking in. The floor was filled with black body bags. Surely Galactica's victims of the holocaust today. At least, those who had been retrieved. Sam swallowed the literal lump in her throat as she watched a man in a blue uniform walking among his dead crew members. At each body bag he stopped, leaned down, pulled open the zipper and removed a shiny, golden dog tag. His shoulders were slouched and the rest of his body seemed cachectic, metaphorically speaking. In his right hand, he held the previously collected dog tags. There were many of them. Dozens. Sam didn't envy him of this task. She quickly lowered her eyes as the man turned to her.

When she saw that her group was just about to disappear behind a grey pillar, she hurried on to catch up. Tried to suppress what was going on in the cargo area behind her.

The group came to a halt a little later in front of a large air lock. A lot of other crewmembers were already there and waiting. A group of armed men and women stood to the left. They carried weapons similar to the assault rifles Carter had used in her universe. Chief Tyrol was present, too. He leaned to the right of the airlock and chatted with a young woman. Both looked up when a third party approached them. It was Major O'Neill.

To avoid being discovered by him before her secret mission began, she took a few steps backwards and hid behind two tall men. Between their heads, she eyed the other O'Neill. He was still wearing his dirty flight suit, holding a phone to his ear and listening to the person on the other line. Then he nodded to the Chief.

Tyrol clapped his hands loudly and the quiet conversations of the crew fell silent.  
"Listen, people. We don't have much time and I'll say this just once. Its been some time since someone's been at Ragnar Station, so we have to expect that not everything is working properly. Our priority is the armament of Galactica. Nevertheless, we can't just take everything. We need to do this methodically, efficiently and quickly."  
To empathize his words, the chief paused his speech. He rummaged in one of the many pockets of his uniform and found two spray cans, throwing one to Major O'Neill who revealed no problem with his eye-hand coordination and caught it.  
"That's why we've come up with this. The CAG and I will mark everything we need with a big, yellow X. An easy rule, if it's not tagged, don't load it. Understood?"

Around the Chief, the deckhands affirmed his order with nodding. Sam, however, was focused on someone else. She watched Major O'Neill, wanting to assess him a little bit better. Although she wasn't familiar with the military in this reality, it hadn't escaped her that there was a system of officers and non commissioned officers. The Chief was a NCO and his rank therefore below the Major. Nevertheless, O'Neill seemed to be okay with the younger man giving the instructions. He would be entirely in right to refer to his higher rank and give the orders himself. But O'Neil didn't. Because he knew what really mattered and that they couldn't afford rank disputes in their situation. This reminded her strongly of the Jack O'Neill in her universe. The Colonel and later General had possessed a good sense for those times, when it was smarter to cede leadership of a mission. Even if it meant trusting someone who stood under him in the pecking order. Sam was in the business long enough to know that this didn't happen often. Most officers insisted on their superiority, even if their skills didn't meet the mission requirements. Just because their ballooned ego couldn't stand it when a sergeant played the lead role. But Jack O'Neill had always been better than most, and he seemed to be better in this reality too.

"The marines will go in first. Is that okay for you Major?" The chief asked for the approval of his superior officer. O'Neill held two fingers to his forehead and sent a flippant salute towards the other man. Memories of moments bygone threatened to flood Sam as she saw this gesture and she knew that, no matter what would happen with Daniel and her, it wouldn't be easy to deal with the Generals doppelganger.  
"It's your party, Chief. Let's go." The CAG supported his sloppy salute with equally casual words and pushed away from the wall.

Tyrol nodded to the young woman beside him and she activated the opening mechanism. The large hatch opened with a hiss as artificial atmosphere was established. The crew split up behind the Chief and the Major, joining forces to open the second airlock.

Still remaining in the background, Sam oriented to the right. Where Major O'Neill was. Part of her mission was to learn more about their acute situation, just like she'd told Daniel. But secretly, she was hoping for a chance to watch this reality's O'Neill in action. Carter had spent many years working and fighting at the General's side. Watching his movements, studying his tactics and coping his style of leadership. Simply learning from his example. Often enough, SG-1's secret and dangerous missions were spent in complete silence. For example, when they had to hide from a group of angry Jaffa. That's why, over the years, Sam learned not only to copy his movements, but also to interpret the thoughts and assumptions prompting the General to do exactly what the did. Him raising an eyebrow told her more about his assessment of a situation than a whole report. Whenever he'd tensed up, it was more informative than dozens of interpretation schemes. Carter wanted to do the same here. Cataloguing his behavior to get a better feeling for his character. But, it was important to stay undiscovered. Sam was pretty sure, that Major O'Neill didn't trust them. True, he seemed to have lost his stubborn claim that they were terrorists. But if he was only half the officer he looked like, Sam knew that they'd have to do a lot more to gain his full trust. And she wanted that, his trust, his approval. It was a little bit irrational, under the present circumstances. But a small part of her seemed to urge her to get back what she had lost. Carter shook her head up on that thought, pushing those feelings back and into the hurt locker they'd come from. Forcing herself to focus on her surroundings instead. It wasn't overly hard to do so. She was good at repressing feelings.

Even if the exterior of the station couldn't been seen, the long and a-shaped corridors possessed no windows, the architecture and room layout suggested that Ragnar Station was a bar-like construction. The huge main room of the station was round. A glance upwards and downwards showed her that there were several other levels above her head and below.

"Hey Cally, go find the genny and fire it up. We need some light in here." Chief Tyrol instructed the young woman and she disappeared with one of the armed marines as escort in a hallway to the left. To his other deckhands he said "Find out if these lifts and cranes are still working. I don't want to drag all this stuff myself."

It took a few minutes until the whole crew was divided into many different groups, armored with flashlights and combing the station for useful equipment.  
Sam noticed, that Tyrol and O'Neill were splitting up too. The Chief went with a group left, saying that he wanted to check the cranes and elevators. The Major grabbed his can of spray paint and sauntered to the right, starting to mark the heavy boxes of ammunition for shipment.

Carter followed him at some distance. The fact that he was going alone complicated her mission. It would've been easier to hide in a bigger group of deckhands. But it wasn't impossible for her to avoid being noticed. The whole deck was covered with innumerable, highly stacked metal boxes. Many opportunities to hide from brown, alert and prying eyes. The absence of an other light source than his flashlight working to her favor.

She scurried back and forth between the boxes, using to the shadows to stay unnoticed. Unfortunately, she didn't get any opportunity to gather useful insight. This warehouse looked exactly like the hundreds she's seen before. And the Major did nothing striking, nothing to give her a hint about his character. He was walking purposefully between the boxes, but only marking the ones labeled 'BSG 75'. The others, labeled 'BSM 62', he ignored.

Carter followed him even deeper into the dark belly of the Ragnar Station. The voices of the others became silent. The air was cold and dusty. She listened to his steps, stopping her own movements and hiding behind boxes whenever he stood still. Then she waited for the telltale clicking of his paint can as he shook it, the hissing when he sprayed the paint to the surface. It was always the same sequence. Determined steps, clattering, hissing and steps again. But this time, the sequence of noises didn't happen. Cautiously, she peered out from her dark hideout. She saw the spray can lying on the floor a few feet in front of her. But no trace of O'Neill. The only sign of his existence was the yellow X on a box. That could only mean…shit! She cursed inwardly as she realized that she'd been tricked. Major O'Neill was just like the General, when it came to watchfulness after all. He must've noticed that he was being followed and deliberately walked in circles. Probably, he was already busy creeping up on her.

Sam squinted her eyes and looked around, but couldn't hear or see anything special. As quietly as possible, she tried to sneak out of her hiding place. He was definitely looking for her and keeping in motion was the best way if she didn't want to be found. But Sam hadn't even started to tiptoe, when she felt the cold barrel of a gun in her back. Caught in the act with to chances to escape, she held up her hands as a signal that she was no danger.

"Okay, turn around, nice and slow. I wanna see who's sneaking around here…" she heard him say as she followed his command. She turned around on the soles of her shoes and blinked, as the beam of his flashlight hit her eyes.  
"What! You! What the frak are you doing here?" he demanded to know, stunned about her presence and waiting impatiently for an answer. But before she said something, she waved at the flashlight.  
"Could you…please?"  
Amazingly he obliged right away, directing the beam of light on some point behind them. Now, Sam stood exactly opposite him and was forced to explain what she was doing her. And if his expression was any indication of his current mood, it was good for her if she came up with something plausible.

Finally, she decided to trust her charm and offered him a hopefully innocent-sounding "Surprise!". Too bad, that Major Jack O'Neill seemed to be immune to her winningly smile.  
"Oh no, a surprise would have been a nice, comfy armchair, a bowl of popcorn and the recording of the Pyramid Final. You being here…" he gestured expansively towards her "…is an unauthorized leaving of the infirmary and illegal joining of a mission. You really, really shouldn't be here. Tell me why I shouldn't order a Marine to throw you in the brig?!"

Luckily for her, she had a quick tongue. As requested by him, she raised one finger after the other while she recited numerous reasons why he should be deliriously happy about her presence. Captain Samantha Carter, the young and naïve officer would have been capable of literally wetting her pants if she had ever talked to Colonel Jack O'Neill that way. But Lt. Colonel Carter was neither naïve, nor afraid to speak her mind. With Colonel and later General O'Neill, she'd always been in the role of the subordinate. But in this reality, she suddenly realized, Major O'Neill and she were equals. Now she just had to make him see this.  
"First of all, you have not time to waste. Secondly, and I guess the most important fact for you, is that you sending me back in the company of Marines would be grist to Colonel Tigh's mill. I bet he would have a field day confronting you about him being right at every opportunity. And, last but not least, you need my help. You need any help you can get."

O'Neill, still not overly impressed, crossed his arms over his chest and demonstratively set up a smug expression.  
"Oh, is that so? I don't know why I should be in need of the help of a terror suspect."  
Slowly, but surely, these untenable and completely ridiculous accusations started to wear her down. And she was getting angry, because no one wanted to believe them.  
"We are not terrorists. This is all a big misunderstanding." She insisted again on her innocence and was getting tired of repeatedly having to justify herself. Carter would describe herself as a strong willed and assertive woman. She wasn't used to being constantly on the defensive. Normally, SG-1 used either diplomacy, tactical skills or a ruse free themselves from such hopeless situation. But clearly, her range of possible maneuvers was small right now.

"Yah sure, an explosive misunderstanding!" O'Neill countered and Sam narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Up to now, he'd made no indication that he knew something about the circumstances of their arrest in the museum. That they had been armed and equipped with explosives. Maybe, him using the word 'explosive' hadn't been an allusion at all, but simply a bad joke on her expense. Was he toying with her, or not? Did he knew details about the arrest, or not? Anyway, Daniel was right. She had to be extremely cautious with what she said around Major O'Neill. At least, until they had some time to think about how to tackle their problem of being stranded in the wrong universe.

Sam rubbed her temples, feigning a headache, to win some time. Of course, their presence in a closed museum at night and the fact that there was no trace of their personal data in the colonial databases was difficult to explain. At the same time, she couldn't possibly make up an impromptu explanation that would refute the accusations against them. Not without sounding suspicious or simply crazy because her make up story was poorly planned out. And she didn't dare to tell him the truth. Not without discussing it with Daniel first. So, if she couldn't provide facts for their innocence, she had to do something that would speak for itself. Maybe, this was her opportunity to prove herself to him and therefore gain his trust. In this reality, there was nothing she could use to undergird Daniel's and her integrity. Nothing but her actions.

"Well? Are you gonna say something, or do I have to interpret your staring as surrender?" he pushed for an answer.  
"Look, Major O'Neill," she began, addressing him with his rank and hoping that the would take kindly to her accepting his authority. "I admit, it looks pretty bad for us and…"  
"That's probably the understatement of the century!" O'Neill threw in sarcastically. But she continued, unfazed by his antics.  
"…and, I also understand that you have no reason to trust us. There is nothing we could say to prove our innocence, well nothing we could verify, anyway. But if you'd give me the chance, I could show you that our word counts for something. I can help. I want to help."

Sam watched his reaction intently and booked it as small success for herself, that he made no attempt to reach for the gun in his leg-holster. He pursed his lips, flared his nostrils like he wanted to sniff out the truth. Nevertheless, she could see that he wasn't completely convinced. Jack O'Neill was suspicious by nature. That was how he survived even the most dangerous situations. Maybe she had to appeal to the pragmatist in him. Many times, it was pragmatism that had managed to convince the Colonel of the factual advantage of an alliance.

"Let's be clear about it, we are in deep shit." She started and noticed delighted how his left eyebrow flinched for a fraction in astonishment about her choice of words. Apparently, her flourish expression took him by surprise, but there was probably much about her that this O'Neill wouldn't dare to dream about. And, most important, he seemed to like her talking like that. There was a barely, almost grin on his face.  
"This is literally a matter of life and death. Your ship and its crew has suffered many losses today. The way I see it, you can't afford to refuse help. And to be crystal clear, I don't want to give those damned Cylons the satisfaction to destroy this ship too. I want to fight back, but I can't do that if you don't trust me."

Still, the Major displayed no telltale reaction. He said nothing, didn't even bat an eyelash. Offered nothing but this maybe, maybe not grin. O'Neill simply stared at her with this well-known neutral face. Sam stared back. Briefly, she wondered if this was one of those childish competitions. The first to look away was lost the game. But Carter didn't get the opportunity to confirm this theory.

The radio crackled before O'Neill could respond.  
"This is Specialist Henderson for Major O'Neill! We have a big problem here. Chief Tyrol has been taken hostage! We need help!"  
Immediately, the pilot broke eye contact with the blonde woman in front of him. Frowning, he answered.  
"This is O'Neill, say again?"  
"I repeat, Chief Tyrol has been taken hostage. A man took us by surprise. No one knows who he is. He has the Chief and threatens to shoot him."  
"Where are you?"  
"On deck 15, sector 4-B."  
"I'll be right there. Don't shoot first!" advised O'Neill, still looking unbelieving about this sudden change of plans.

He turned back to Sam, fixing her with warning eyes.  
"We're not done yet." Jack announced a further debate about her credibility. But this armed incident was more important right now than her unresolved status as a potential terrorist. She registered this as her first success, after all he didn't seem to see her on the top of his personal shit list. Sam nodded her agreement.

After their, albeit temporary, truce O'Neill moved like a scalded cat. He sprinted in the opposite direction from which they had come and Carter hurried along, trying not to lose sight of his figure as he rushed between the towers of ammunition boxes.  
"I thought there is no one here but us." She panted as she caught up with him.  
"Thought that too. Ragnar Station is unstaffed. Don't know bout you, but I've had enough surprises for one day." He explained, almost lamented, indirectly confirming that there was indeed a unwanted intruder on the loose.

Their haste through the large warehouse lasted less that five minutes before they could see a mob of agitated crewmen. It seemed that the entire away team had gathered around the endangered Chief. Tyrol was standing in the middle, or rather, he was forced to. He kept his hands in the air, trying to radiate a calmness to soothe the upset teammates around him. The source of the sudden alarm stood behind Tyrol. In the right hand, the stranger held a revolver which he pointed at the Chief's head. The left arm was wrapped around the uniformed man's neck, forcing him to stand stock still. The armed man himself was nervous. Sweating and his eyes darting around enraged, as if he wasn't sure which direction held the greatest danger for him. An open metal door in the background, leading to a long and dark corridor. Had the attacker been hiding in there?

To their left a group of Marines had taken up position. They held their submachine guns directed on the hostage-taker, barely concealing their urge to finally be able to shoot at someone on this day. Carter knew those looks. These men were probably part of some kind of special unit. Highly trained and specialized for such situations, accustomed to attack first and ask questions later. In the last few hours they had been forced to witness, like everyone else, how their civilization had been destroyed. But unlike the fighter pilots, they had been condemned to idleness. Despite their natural, shaped by training and instincts, to do the exact opposite. So the men had probably accumulated an unhealthy dose of aggression and fury. The way they were clenching their large guns, it was clear to see that it would take just the barest movement and they would be shooting every bullet they had. Unfortunately for Chief Tyrol, he was in the direct line of fire. No matter who shot first, the Marines or the armed stranger, Tyrol was as good as dead.

Sam risked a glance at O'Neill and noted that he must have analyzed the situation similarly. He was standing to the right of the two men in the center of attention, opposite the Marines. Fortunately for everyone, the Major was able to reach the Marines and convinced them with a small, but determined gesture to put down their weapons. Albeit reluctantly, as you could see in their strained eyes.

When he was sure that no one of the trigger-happy men would succumb to their aggression, O'Neill dared to take a step towards the armed hostage-taker. Slowly and carefully, he slid first one, then the other foot over the smooth floor. Outstretching his hands soothingly, with the palms facing forward.

"Okay, I want all of you to calm down." His instruction was directed at everyone present, especially the Marines, but his attention was fully on the nervous stranger with the gun. The aggressor had identified O'Neill as leader too, but couldn't turn his restless eyes away from the others.

"I don't want any trouble" The sweating man shouted and tightened his stranglehold on Tyrol's neck so that the Chief had to bent backwards to continue breathing. For the blink of an eye, Carter could recognize how Major O'Neill's jaw tensed up. She would bet that the had some smartass answer to that on his lips, but swallowed his sarcasm to prevent the situation from getting out of control.

"Hey, that's good. We don't want any trouble either. Let's talk about it. Okay?"  
"I'm not going to jail. You understand me? I am not going to jail!" Implored the man, letting it sound like a threat. O'Neill understood the message, loud and clear. I anyone would try to overwhelm him, the Chief was dead. The stranger would rather risk being shot, that going to jail. This told Jack that the man was willing to risk everything, that he had nothing to lose. It was not a pretty good negotiation basis for the CAG if the armed stranger wasn't afraid of dying. It was dangerous for everyone.

He had no other option than to respond to the hostage-taker's demand. For now.  
"Nobody's taking you to jail, just calm down. I'm sure we'll find a solution."  
In Sam's ears, the Major sounded pretty trustworthy, but the captor saw that differently. He jammed the barrel of his gun in the Chief's neck, thus underlining his threat that he had no scruples about shooting Tyrol.  
"Frikkin' right, you're not!"  
The unnamed man yet had to indicate why he was here in the first place and what he wanted to achieve with his hostage-taking. Besides his wish not to go to jail. It was important to find out what he wanted.

"We're not the frakkin police. I've got better things to do than arresting you. I just want my Chief back. Now, put the gun down so we can all go back to our respective ships and hopefully never see each other again."  
The understanding, forthcoming method hadn't worked. Now it was time to show a rougher appearance. And it seemed to afflict the captor. The armed stranger reacted to the Major's callous attitude.

The pressure on the Chief's neck lessened, as the hostage-taker devoted all his attention to the CAG.  
"Yeah, maybe. So who the hell are you guys?" He also demanded to know who he was dealing with.  
"Colonial Fleet. We're here to get some equipment, then we're back to the fight." Answered O'Neill truthfully.  
The other man responded with confusion. "What fight?"  
"Huh? You don't know?" Replied Jack as he realized that the stranger must have been stuck on Ragnar Station way longer than he'd assumed until now. He seemed to know nothing about the Cylon attack. What the heck was this guy doing here?  
"Know what?"

"There's a war on. Now gimme your weapon." Slowly, O'Neill was getting a little impatient. The man had neither explained who he was, what he was doing here and what exactly he wanted. If they continued at this pace, they'd still be here in hours.

The captor didn't respond conciliatory towards the Major's demand.  
"You think I'm stupid or something? Is that it? You think I'm dump, you expect me to believe you? I want passage out of here. On a safe transport ship, with an untraceable FTL jump system. Now!"  
For outsiders, it might look like O'Neill was loosing control of the situation. But actually, the opposite was true. Apart form his initial nervousness, the captor had offered no indication that he himself was really interested in ending this stand-off quickly. He was evasive and gave nothing away. But now, he finally displayed an emotional response.

O'Neill took the opportunity and made a big, bold step towards the hostage and the aggressor, who gradually lost his composure. He pulled the gun away from Tyrol's head and aimed it instead on Jack. The Marines raised their weapons again, a silent warning to the stranger. Or was it rather a plea? Please give us a reason to shoot you?

"Listen, I don't have time to argue with you, so here's the deal. I've got over 3000 people on that ship. If you think you can shoot your way through every single one of us, good for you, go ahead and try. But if not, take your weapon down, give me my Chief back and get the hell outta my way before I rip your frakking head off!" The Major's voice was a dangerous mix of impatience, anger and cold calculation. His threat was effective, though the captor's surrender was a bit too sudden for Sam's taste. Something about this situation was raising red flags in her brain. The amygdale, surely. The part of a human's brain that was responsible for lightning-quick and intuitively hazard identification. If this little piece of brain, looking like an oversized almond, sensed oncoming danger, it's human owner could react in three possible ways: fight, flight or freeze. Concerning Sam, it was definitely fight. She clenched her hands and prepared her body for the catastrophe that was about to come. Adrenalin filling her veins.

The hostage-taker licked his dry lips, looking gauging between the Marines and Major O'Neill. It seemed that he wasn't so keen about dying like wanted to make them believe, because he finally gave up.  
"Okay, oookay."  
The stranger opened the hand that held the gun and let the weapon dangle uselessly from his index finger. He motioned for the Major to come near and take the gun himself. Tyrol, however, was still kept in a stranglehold.

But the CAG wasn't unsettled. "If he moves, shoot him." He advised the Marines, showing the captor that he would loose this confrontation in any case.  
In the meanwhile, Carter's inner klaxons were blaring loudly, an uneasy foreboding rising in her. Something was wrong. Although superficially it looked like the armed stranger was ready to give up, but as Sam eyed him up and down, she couldn't shake the feeling that he was behaving like a man that had still one last ace up his sleeve. And Carter was sure that the stranger was more than ready to play this last card.

She followed O'Neill's every move, like a hawk, as he approached the aggressor. Just a second later, it was almost too late to react. At the same moment the Major seized the offered weapon, the stranger pushed the Chief away from him. Tyrol hadn't expected this and therefore couldn't holt his balance. He collided with a group of deckhands and his movement caused the whole group to tumble against a tower of opened ammunition boxes. The questionable construction wobbled and everyone who could react quickly enough was trying to move away as an explosive of the size of a football dropped out. Everyone was instinctively running for cover, but not O'Neill. He was still struggling with the stranger for the gun, not realizing that he was on the verge of blowing up again.

Sam, however, didn't think about the consequences of her actions as she moved the only way she possibly could.  
"Watch out!" she screamed as she lunged forward. With great force she slammed into the two fighting men. Due to the impact, the bundle of three people staggered back a few steps and then they were all losing their balance, falling through the opened door in the background in a tangle of limbs. Neither man had the chance to understand what had just happened, as the explosive detonated.

The force of the explosion lit another explosive, and another. Like a chain of jumping crackers on new years eve. The roar of the detonations echoed off the walls and reinforced themselves, filling the whole Ragnar Station with almost unbearably loud bangs. Hot flames crept along the walls, heating the atmosphere and hurling all kinds of objects trough the air.  
 _Someone really should teach this people about safety at work,_ was Sam's last thought going through her mind when it was suddenly hot and dark around her.


	11. Chapter 11

Hello again, next chapter. Hope you like. Please write a review if you do. Have a nice day!

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Chapter 11: The Skin-Job

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The obtrusive beeping in her head subsided gradually. Sam groaned as she moved one arm and rolled onto her back. The light of the ceiling lamp flickered above her, bathing her surroundings in a scope light and making it difficult to detect something. Passing the time her eyes needed to adapt to the dim lightning conditions, she tried to rub away the dirt she felt on her skin. She squinted, focusing on the blurred outlines around her.

She was still lying on the floor of the corridor which, it seemed, had received no major damage from the various small explosions. Except for the broken light, a few scattered around boxes and soot smears from the flame, nothing else was demolished. She hoped, that the same was true for Major O'Neill. Sam closed her eyes again and concentrated on her body. Investigating her limbs mentally for injuries, but she couldn't detect any bad wounds. No lesions, no broken bones or concussion. That was good.

Still, her muscles protested as she forced herself on her knees. She wiped a few blonde strands out of her face and searched for the two men. The Major's uniform was clearly visible even in the flickering light. He wasn't moving.

 _Oh no, not again_. She thought _. God please, let him be alive._

The stranger was sprawled over O'Neill, so it was impossible to say whether the pilot's chest was still heaving.

Crawling over to them, she grabbed the aggressor by the shoulders and dragged him away from O'Neill. Carter had little interest for the captor's welfare, which was why she left him lying on the floor. Instead, she leaned across the CAG's torso, listening for any signs of breathing. A relieved almost sob escaped her lungs, when she realized that he was alive and breathing. Her trembling hands probed his body for obvious injuries.

Her examination must have lured his mind out of the unconsciousness, because his eyelids opened suddenly, blinking rapidly. Brown eyes met her blue ones in muddled confusion and he took his time to recall what had happened. O'Neill accepted her guiding hands to help him sitting up, and she rated it as clear sign that he wasn't fully recovered yet. Otherwise, he surely wouldn't have let her help him.

Only seconds later, his blackout was gone again. Behind them, the stranger had awoken and was coughing, attracting the Major's attention, and his anger.  
"What the frak was that about?!" blustered O'Neill and lunged for the hostage-taker. The other man fell on his ass as the tall pilot grabbed him by the collar.

Carter managed to shove her body between the two men, keeping them from further wrangling. This was exactly how they had gotten in this messy situation in the first place. While she put one hand firmly on O'Neill's chest to restrain him, she gave the other man a rough shove, keeping him effectively out of the pilot's reach.  
"Calm down! Both of you!" she appealed to her counterpart's reason and could see the exact moment he realized that she was right.

The Major raised his hands in a gesture of understanding and took a step back, his grinding teeth the only evidence of the towering rage that was still blaring in his eyes. She could understand his anger. The stand-off had been almost solved, when the stranger had carried out his cunning move, shoving the Chief and causing the explosions. Endangering them all, but what for? They might have to bemoan the loss of more crewmen and women, just because this sweating idiot couldn't accept that he was defeated. Nevertheless, aggressive temperament wouldn't help them. They needed to keep a cool head. Work together in case the unnamed man would try something else.

The stranger seemed to sense that he was about to get a sound beating, which was why he was making the effort of formulating something like an apology.  
"I'm sorry, okay? It was a reflex. In my job, you have to be vigilant."  
O'Neill didn't respond to the explanation, didn't even indicate that he had listened. He was much too busy wiping both hands through his dark hair. Dust, soot and small, burned, particles flying around, leaving his hair in a tousled mess.

"Aha, and what kind of job is that?" He asked at least, appearing a little more calm and controlled. Sam relaxed slightly. A hopping mad O'Neill wasn't easy to keep in check, that was probably a similarity in any possible universe.  
The other man shrugged his shoulders meaningfully, but offered just an indirect reply. He nodded towards the cargo area.

"Okay, those warheads out there? Here's the deal. They would have brought a nice price on the black market."  
"So, you're an arms dealer, huh? That's supposed to make it better?" replied the pilot and his tone left no doubt that he wasn't thinking very highly of arms dealers. Gun smugglers and terrorists seemed to be his definite enemy image. The smuggler grinned without honest emotion.  
"People have a right to defend themselves. I just supply the means."  
"Yeah, the means to kill each other. You ever been on a battle field once the killing is over?"  
"What am I supposed to say, eh? I'm just a humble servant of the law of demand and supply. I sell nothing they're not willing to pay for."  
The indifference with which the arms dealer justified his dubious business and blamed the victims of his guns for their own death, provoked nothing but disgust in Sam. She'd seen that too many times. On her own planet and foreign ones. Unscrupulous gun smugglers earning money with bloody conflicts and making sure that the violence didn't end. They couldn't earn money in peacetime.

The still unnamed man was not impressed with the open dislike towards him. He answered them with stretching out his hands, apparently expecting some help from them. Well, he was grievously mistaken there. Carter crossed her arms consequently, O'Neill backing her up with a disinterested expression on his face. When the smuggler realized that he had to get up himself, he sighed. Supporting his body on the wall behind him, he came to his feet unsteadily.

He wiped his dirty hands on the trousers. "So, I can go now, right?"  
A deep, dangerous laugh escaped the Major, accompanied with gloomy eyes.  
"Don't think so. I know a cozy cell with your name on it."  
The other man protested stubbornly, trying to impress the CAG with his physical appearance as much as possible.  
"What are you saying? You promised you're not here to arrest me!"  
This time, it was O'Neill's turn to shrug indifferently.  
"Changed my mind. Besides, I don't remember promising you anything."

Before the two men could start another hand tight dispute, Sam steered their attention towards a more urgent problem. She had just noticed herself that the door they'd fallen trough was ripped out of its hinges. Instead of the door, a smoking pile of debris blocked the passage. They were locked up. Again. _This day is getting better and better_ , Sam judged sarcastically.

"Hey, guys. I don't think anyone of us is going anywhere fast."  
Both men stopped their staring and followed her outstretched arm to the barricade.  
"Frak me!" Swore O'Neill, dragging out the vowels to emphasize his frustration. He took a step, standing in front of the rubble. Carefully touching the wreckage, but pulling his hand back immediately.  
"Hot." He commended and took lead naturally. The Major looked around searchingly, finally picking up a charred iron rod like a baseball bat and tried to lever out some of the rubble.

His effort was unsuccessful, but therefore he'd managed to catch the attention of the rest of their team on the other side. The Chief's voice reached them past the stacked layers of metal. Sam would've almost laughed out loud. This was like a repetition of the episode in the flight pod. Them stuck in here, and the Chief on the other side.  
"Major, are you all right?"  
O'Neill threw the iron bar away, grinning when the captor had to hurry not to get hit.  
"Yeah. Anybody hurt out there?"  
"No, Sir. Just some superficial burns. We got lucky. I've got some equipment coming. We're gonna get you out of there right away."  
The relief that this accident hadn't claimed another victim was short lived. The Galactica needed the ammunition urgently. No one was able to tell how long they could hide from the Cylons. This was about minutes. Their lives played a subordinate role. Jack shook his head vehemently although Tyrol, of course, couldn't see this.

"No! Get all the bullets and equipment to the ship. Don't waste anybody on anything else."  
The pilot turned to the stranger, who was breathing calmly.  
"Is there another way out of here?"  
The hostage-taker nodded. "Sure. I know the way."

Satisfied with this answer, O'Neill continued talking with the Chief.  
"Listen, we're gonna take another way out."  
Tyrol answered cautiously. Sam could practically visualize his frown.  
"Sir, I don't think that's a wise idea."  
"Unwise ideas are my specialty, Chief." Jack seemed to be sure about his plan. "You got your orders."  
"Yes, Sir. Good luck."

Carter felt the Major's gauging eyes on here, before his gaze turned to the stranger. He was assessing if they were fit for an extended hike through the station's innards. When he was apparently satisfied with what he saw, he motioned the other man with a broad hand gesture to go ahead.  
"After you."

The aggressor squinted his eyes, glancing back and forth between Carter and O'Neill. A secretive grin sneaked into his face.  
"Okay, here we go."

They followed the man, leading them deeper into the bowels of the station. While they passed the narrow corridors, something happened that Sam was very familiar with, but also surprising her. O'Neill and she harmonized their walking speed. Automatically, without coordinating it actively, they had occupied respective positions right and left behind the stranger. They walked side by side. Each of them alert, covering each others back as if they'd never been doing something else. And somehow, that was even true. At least for Sam. To outsiders, this might be only a nuance, but for Carter it was something big. A sign that her initial instinct was right and that this O'Neill wouldn't be a disappointment. They had just met a few hours ago, and jet they were already working as a team. Even if it was only on a subconscious level.

O'Neill either didn't notice this, or it simply wasn't that important in his perception. He was fully fixated on the stranger. Staring holes into his back. With eagle eyes, he followed each of the other man's movement as they advanced deeper into the station.

It wasn't hard to notice, that the hostage-taker was still struggling with the aftermaths of the detonations. He swayed alarmingly, his shirt wet with sweat. Although he was indeed leading them purposefully through the labyrinth of corridors, never hesitating at junctions, somehow he wasn't really healthy.

"You've got a problem?" O'Neill verbalized his observations as the other man paused briefly, breathing heavy and leaning his shoulders on the wall.  
"I'm fine," he waved his hand dismissingly. "It's just something about this place…"  
"What are you talking about?" Asked the pilot impatiently.  
"Yeah, ever since I got here. Something in the air affects my allergies." Mumbled the captor, suddenly changing the subject. Sam found herself in his focus, she could practically feel his eyes patting her up and down, making her skin tingle unpleasantly. There was just something about this guy that gave her the creeps.

"You always keep me in front of you. Military training, right? Never turn your back on a stranger, that kind of thing? Suspicion and distrust, that's military life…that's your life, right?"  
Carter swallowed hard, not just because of the stranger's attention, but also because she felt O'Neill eying her with growing interest. Bad for her that the stranger had suggested that she had some kind of military training. This was not her reality. There was no trace of a Samantha Carter in the Colonial Forces. If O'Neill asked her about it, it would be difficult to explain her abilities without being suspicious. He was, after all, still convinced that there was something wrong with Daniel and her. Sam didn't want to give his suspicion any more fuel. Surely, his thoughts were already travelling that way. He must've ask himself the same questions. How could she have learned military tactics if she wasn't a soldier or a police officer? And she could already picture the possible answers. If she was in Major O'Neill's place, she'd assume that she was part of some kind of paramilitary organization. Or a terrorist cell.

But the Major was doing her a favor with not responding to the almost unmasking comments of the other man. Instead, he made sure that the captor himself was in focus again.  
"So, you're a philosopher, too? I'm barely controlling my admiration." Denying the sarcasm was pointless. The other man just laughed.  
"I'm merely an observer of human nature. When you get it right down to it, humanity is not a pretty race. I mean, we're only one step away from beating each other with clubs like savages fighting over scraps of meat."  
"Says the weapons dealer." Interrupted O'Neill clearly irritated, but the hostage taker continued on unfazed.  
"Maybe the Cylons are God's retribution for our many sins. What if God decided he made a mistake? And he decided to give souls to another creature, like the Cylons?"

At the time the captor had finished his pessimistic speech, O'Neill stood still. Sam eyed him questioningly and was almost frightened, when she saw the intensity in his eyes. The smaller man stared back with something like challenging mockery. They were watching each other furtively. Like each of them was planning an ambush. Like predators.

Carter tried to understand it. But what was happening in front of her, what was stirring the Major's aggression, still completely eluded her understanding. She simply lacked the background knowledge to make sense of the words, and above all, understand what provoked O'Neill's extreme reaction.

Before she could even begin to scratch the surface of this conflict that was smoldering between the two men, Jack's piercing gaze was gone.  
"The god's didn't create Cylons. Men did. And I'm pretty sure we didn't include a soul in the programming. Now, move." He sneered instead.  
Carter frowned as she tried to conceive those words. She knew, at least she thought that she knew, that these Cylons were the aggressors. They'd started the war, destroyed the Colonies. But still, she couldn't quite grasp the meaning behind O'Neill's comment. How was someone 'made'? Could it mean that someone had driven these Cylons to start a war? And what about the constant allusions to God? Hopefully, Daniel and she hadn't stumbled into some kind of religious crusade. Religious motivated conflicts were the worst. Whenever religious beliefs turned into fanaticism, it was almost impossible to pacify both fighting parties.

The smaller man grinned knowingly. "How about you go first for a while?" He turned back to Carter. Perhaps he thought she was the weaker link. But he was mistaken about that, she was firmly on the Major's side and Sam thought she could sense that the tall pilot was backing her up too. At least in this situation.  
So she retorted coolly, rebuffing his try to provoke her. "In your dreams."

For the next half hour or so, they followed the stranger through the innards of the station. It was obvious that he knew his way around here. But, why? The station was big, housing nearly 30 decks. How long was this guy here already, that he had found the time to memorize the corridors so well? A legitimate question, concluded O'Neill, but not one he would directly address. There were more urgent matters. Above all, returning to the Galactica as soon as possible. He was sure that they wouldn't leave without him, but the longer they had to wait for them, the more time for the Cylons to track them.

In the mean time, however, he could do some thinking. First, there was his companion of whom he knew little more than her name and that she and her friend were suspected to be terrorists. Although the two had been nabbed by the colonial security forces, Jack had a hard time to believe the accusations. After all, it wouldn't be the first time for a GDD agent to arrest the wrong people. After the Saggitarian Liberation Front had renewed their efforts to blow up everyone that dared to question their strict and antiquated religious interpretation of human life, the GDD had reacted with tightening measures for defense against terrorism. Up to the point, were they arrested almost everyone that was at least a little bit suspicious. As far as he knew, the Liberation Front didn't operate in secret, sending disguised teams in deserted museums to hide an explosive device. Suicide bombers, that was more their preferred approach. They wanted their attacks to be big, loud, dramatic, deadly, public and most of all, sensational. Many victims and the possibility to use the pictures and videos about the detonations for their propaganda. Hyping the suicide bombers as heroic pseudo martyrs. Normally, those bombers weren't blessed with particularly high intelligence, or self confidence. Otherwise, it would be almost impossible to persuade them to sacrifice their own lives for questionable ideals. Killing hundreds of innocent people, while the perverse manipulators were hiding like the frakking cowards they were.

The both suspects, Sam and Daniel, didn't fit this modus operandi. They seemed to be intelligent, too grounded and self assured to be manipulated into being used. Jack wouldn't call himself an expert in human nature, but he was pretty sure that there were no connections between Sam and Daniel and those ideologically transfigured Zombies who thought it was honorable to kill innocent people. If this was a puzzle, the pieces didn't fit. But if they were indeed completely innocent, why hadn't they offered the GDD people an explanation for their presence at the museum? It was a pity, that he didn't had the opportunity to take a look into the GDD files before the attack on Caprica had destroyed all data.

The woman next to him puzzled him. There was something about her, especially about the way she moved, carried herself, that looked familiar to him. He was almost sure that she had to have some kind of tactical training. A really good one. Not only had she realized long before him how the Cylons had possibly managed to paralyze the Colonial fleet and thereby indirectly saved his life by keeping him from activating the Raptor's systems. Also, her sovereignty during the fire in the flight pod was nothing less than impressive. She'd remained calm, not even a little bit infected by the panic around her. Quite the contrary, after saving her friend, she'd come back, putting herself in danger and trying to help the other crewmembers. And it had been almost entirely her credit that the fire extinguishing systems started to work just in time. She had not only saved his life a second time, but also rescued many deckhands. And as it seemed, without being part of the Colonial Forces and therefore without the benefit of military training or particularly detailed instructions. Instead, it occurred to O'Neill that she operated due to an unfamiliar reservoir of experience and a good dose of intuition.

Just like now. Walking beside him, mirroring his steps and following the sweaty guy in front of them through the long corridors. But she didn't just merely follow him. Carter watched like a hawk. Cataloguing and analyzing the hostage taker's movements. Jack knew she was doing it, because he was doing the same and he recognized her behavior from his own. Attentive and always on guard. Then there was her posture. She wasn't sauntering, not just walking or scurrying impatiently. Instead, she was sneaking, no gliding silently and elegantly along the floor. Like a big cat. She balanced her weight on the balls of her feet, ready to move immediately into combat mode, should they be attacked. And the mere fact that she seemed to be awaiting some kind of confrontation with the hostage taker, confirmed him in his assumption that she wasn't someone who thought it was justifiable to blow up innocent people. He wasn't dealing with a dump, misguided and inexperienced woman, but with someone on par with him. Although these were just his suspicions and he indeed had no way to knew if he was right or not, at the moment he was glad that she had decided to stand at his side.

His biggest problem was the other guy. Their 'guide' seemed to get worse. He was sweating like crazy, though it was rather cool in the station. Increasingly panting, he had to support his body on the wall. Something was wrong with this asshole, Jack just had to find out what exactly. He also doubted the story about the abandoned arms dealer. Where was his ship? Where were his accomplices? Why had they left him behind? And why the frak was he unaware of the ongoing Cylon attack?

His statements were bugging O'Neill, too. Well, there were many confused and religious misguided idiots. But his insisting on only one god, combined with the indicated worship of the so called Cylon soul, even though everyone knew that those toasters possessed no soul, rose an uneasy suspicion in him. He war fairly certain that the stranger was everything, but not a mere arms dealer.

"What did you say was you name?" Jack tried to engage the stranger in an innocent sounding conversation to learn more about him.  
"Didn't tell you my name." He answered, running his finger through the wet and oily hair.  
"Sooo?" O'Neill persisted.  
"Loeben. Loeben Conoy."  
"Hmm….Loeben? Is that Sagittarian?"  
"No. I'm from Caprica."  
"Really?"  
"Yes, really." Loeben insisted, sounding slightly annoyed. Jack couldn't help but grin. That was good. Very good. Conoy, if that was his real name, seemed to be really sick. Sick people, especially if they were annoyed too, tended to make mistakes. And once Loeben made a mistake, he was toast.

"You a C-Bucs fan?" O'Neill went on.  
Loeben came to a halt at a junction, bracing his hands on his knees. Left, a dark corridor led deeper into the Station. Right was a closed steel door.  
"No. I'm not into sports."  
If Jack hadn't been already convinced that Conoy wasn't telling the truth, he'd knew that something was wrong at this moment. Someone who was from Caprica and claimed not to love the C-Bucs. That was humbug! Such a person didn't exist. Pyramid was the best sport of the 12 Worlds. The only sport that combined fighting spirit, elegance and tactics in this beautiful way. In recent years the home team, the Caprica Buccaneers, had strained their supporter's loyalty beyond a healthy level. Nevertheless, or perhaps because of that, the Capricans and their Buccaneers were inseparable. The C-Bucs were simply the best, no matter if they were winning or losing. You could ask anybody from Caprica, the Bucs ruled! Whether it was teachers, street entertainers or politicians, everyone loved the team or at least had developed some sort of love-hate relation ship. Someone who claimed to 'not be into Pyramid' was just weird. It was unnatural, in Jack's eyes.

"What's wrong? Lost the way?" O'Neill probed for more revealing information, when it seemed that Conoy couldn't decide between left and right. The other man pushed his chin arrogantly forward.  
"I know exactly where to go." He protested, opening the door purposefully and adding, "I always know where I am."

"Good for you. Now, are we going in or not?" Demanded O'Neill to know when Conoy remained standing in the threshold of the door. He looked away, shook his head as if to shake off his confused thoughts.  
"Yes, yes. That's the way. We're almost at the exit." Loeben rambled on and coughed.  
He walked, no, he staggered through the door, supporting his body on the railing.

They stood on a platform with a steep staircase leading down to a room. Hundreds of pipes and tubes of different sizes snaked along the ceiling and walls, disappearing into the floor. Moist steam filling the air. It was the pump room. Loeben was now practically hanging from the railing, sick as a dog and coughing up dark mucus. When he had calmed down a little, he straightened up and ran his hands through his face.

O'Neill could hear when Carter stopped breathing and instinctively clenched his fists. Her alarmed eyes searching him like laser beams. He couldn't blame her. If Carter was only half as clever as he assumed, she also knew that Loeben Conoy was far more dangerous than a simple arms dealer. With trembling hands, Conoy had not just wiped the sweat from his face, it also looked like entire parts of his skin was sticking to his hands.  
 _Gods, is his face melting?_

Loeben was starting to realize, wherever he was leading them, he wouldn't arrive alive. Something was happening to him. Almost as if his body was slowly dissolving. Like candle wax smoldering under the flame's heat.  
"What about this place? What's it doing to me?" He whined and threw reproachful looks at O'Neill and Sam. As if it was their fault.  
"You mean, besides the fact that your face is melting?" Jack stated dryly.

Loeben stared at him startled, scratching even more pale, sloppy pieces of skin from his face.  
"What are you doing to me?"  
O'Neill eyed him without pity, because all of a sudden he knew exactly who he was. Or rather, what he was. Time to end this game. Conoy had played long enough with him.  
"Me? I'm doing nothing. It's your silica pathways to the brain, or whatever it is you call that thing you pretend to think with. Not a pretty sight, you're decomposing as we speak."

Jack was surprised at how calm he sounded. He knew what he had in front of him, even though the experts denied even the mere possibility of the existence of these creatures for years. But right here was the proof that humanoid Cylons indeed existed. How cynical, Cylons that looked like real humans!  
 _I'll eat my shorts, if those guy isn't involved in the attacks. Frakking skin-job!_

The Cylon in human form was writhing in pain. His eyes gleamed with insane certainty. He looked miserable.  
"It's the nebula, right? It puts out something. Something that's affecting Cylon technology. That's right, isn't it? And this…" he spread his arms unsteady, "…this station, it's a refuge. That's why you're here. You and the pathetic rest of you impotent fleet. Last ditch effort to hide from the Cylon attack."  
His voice was mocking him and Jack had to restrain himself as not to screw off this guy's hollow head.  
"Well, it's not enough. I've been here for hours. They'll come looking for me. You and your friends will be dead meat before you know it."

 _Oookay, that's enough bullshit for one day!  
_ This asshole, pardon, this piece of scrap metal, had strained his patience long enough. Time to return to Galactica. Including the toaster.  
"Sorry to tell ya, but you won't be here by the time your tinny pals arrive. The Galactica is ready to takeoff. Once we're out of Ragnar Station, we're gone. And you're coming with us."  
Conoy grinned broadly, showing two rows of disturbingly white teeth. More artificial humanity, thought O'Neill.  
"I don't think so." Murmured the Cylon mysteriously. Then he grabbed the pilot by the collar and threw them down the stairs.

Carter was so overwhelmed by the events of the last few minutes, from what she'd heard that she reacted too late. Everything happened in slow motion. She had to watch helplessly as the two men tumbled down the stairs, landing hard on the floor. The man named Loeben, who seemed to be neither man nor Cylon, mobilized incredible strength considering his poor state a few seconds ago. With a force adjoining to inhumane strength, he attacked O'Neill before the pilot had even a minimal chance to react. His hands closed around the pilot's neck, pressing his back against the hot pipes. Sam heard O'Neill moaning and groaning painfully as Conroy squeezed his windpipe. He'd strangle him !

Finally, she woke up from her paralysis. Sam rushed down the stairs, barging into the choking man. Somehow, she had to get Conroy away from O'Neill. But the man had anticipated her attack. Just before she reached the last stair, she felt a punch in her face. The force of the impact made her lose her balance, falling down. Her head collided with a thick pipe. That would leave an impressive bruise.

Lying on the floor, she was forced to watch as Loeben, whatever he was, worked out his anger. O'Neill was fighting back desperately. Ripping even more skin from the other man's face and arms. But Conoy didn't seem to feel the pain. With each passing second, the pilot's attempts at freeing himself grew weaker. His lips were turning blue and he visibly lost consciousness. She had to hurry. Now! A few more seconds, and this O'Neill would die too, before her eyes. But not this time. Not again. This time, she'd prevent it. Making up for that one fateful moment she'd failed miserably.

Sam bared her teeth. Her hands searching for something and finding a lose pipe. Frantically grabbing the metal with both hands, she got to her feet. She swung wide and mustered up every bit of strength she could find in herself, the pipe colliding with Loeben's head.

Conoy didn't seem to have noticed the first blow. He was far too gone in his madness to strangle O'Neill. The second blow made him falter, but not releasing his stranglehold. With each bash, more and more blood and hair sprayed through the air. She hit him. Again and again and again. Then, finally, the pipe literally cut through the thick skull.

A nauseating crack filled the room. Conroy's fingers slagging at once, his body staggering a few steps, hands feeling for the big hole in his head with something like wonder in his eyes. Viscous blood and other liquids running down his face. Then he collapsed.

As soon as the hands came loose around O'Neill's neck, he sank powerless on the ground. Leaning his upper body against the wall and stretching out his long legs, his breath was rushed and labored. But he was definitely alive. When Carter was sure that Conoy wouldn't get up anymore, she dropped the iron bar and sank down on her knees beside the pilot. With guiding hands on his shoulders, she helped him sitting up some more so that he could breathe easier. O'Neill watched her through half-closed eyelids, his eyes surprisingly alert and a grateful smile on his face.

"Are you okay?" She inquired, noticing with relief that the color came back to his skin. Because he was too busy filling his lungs with air and therefore couldn't speak, he just raised his hand and gave her a thumbs up.  
His breathing was still erratic and already a hematoma was forming around his neck where Conoy had relentlessly chocked him. But he was okay. He would survive it.

 _He's okay. He'll survive. He'll stand up again, sharing one of his stupid jokes.  
_ She repeated these phrases like a mantra, like a prayer, in her head and sat down beside him. Granting herself a few minutes of rest. It had been a terribly long day.

"C…Con…?" she heard him croak. He had not yet recovered fully, his lungs protesting as he tried to speak. Frustrated, he nodded towards the bleeding man with the big hole in his skull.  
"He's not going anywhere fast." She answered his silent question, receiving a wry grin in return.  
"Sweet."  
Carter squinted, her pulse vibrating in her chest. _Sweet._ Some parallels were calming, other simply hurt. At that moment she realized how hard it would be in the future to deal with this O'Neill, without having to think about her O'Neill. Just that he had never really been hers.

When his breathing had returned to normal and the color of his face wasn't resembling a smurf anymore, he picked himself up and staggered towards the ponderous heap of what once had been a man. Taking care not to step into the puddle of blood and other body fluids. Careful, he tapped Conoy's lifeless form with the toe of his shoe, recoiling when the other man –despite his pitiful state of health- opened his eyes. His gaze was damned clear and he even managed to laugh at them.  
"Damn. Why can't you just die?" O'Neill muttered to himself.  
Loeben breathed in, spraying fine drops of blood from his lips when he spoke.  
"Soon. It won't take much longer. Once they find you, it will not take them long to destroy the rest of you. Then your worlds will truly belong to us. The more advanced race."

O'Neill rolled his eyes. Although he was just a few minutes away from meeting his beloved creator, Conoy insisted on babbling some more nonsense. As if that was impressing him. After all, he'd just survived the screwhead's murder attempt. Thanks to his more than capable support. Now there was one more thing he knew about the blonde woman. Her name was Sam. Her training was first class. And her blow was killer. He asked her silently what she was thinking of all this. Her facial features displayed annoyance. So she was sick of Loeben's horseshit too.

"Yadda, yadda, yadda. Guess what, you won't find out, because you'll be dead in a few minutes. How does that feel? If you can feel."  
Loeben grinned, albeit painfully, even wider. Like someone who knew a secret no one else was supposed to know.  
"Oh I can fee more that you could ever conceive of. But I'm not afraid. I won't die."  
O'Neill frowned. This guy's circuits must've melted. But Conoy's clear eyes and haunting look made him believe that some disturbing truth was hiding behind the dying Cylon's crazy words.

Conoy chuckled when he realized, that the pilot was starting to understand. His eyes fell on the tall, blond woman who had brought him down. She was standing up now, taking up a position next to O'Neill. Silently showing her support. That was good. The two Colonists would certainly need the mutual support once he'd revealed the truth to them. The certainty that human race couldn't hide anywhere. That the fight wasn't finished until the last man and woman and child had received their just fate. Death.

"That's right. When this body dies, my consciousness will be transferred to another one. And when that happens, I think I'll tell the others exactly where you are and I'll think they'll come and kill you all. And I'll be watching it happen. I am immortal. I can't die. No one of us can. You may shoot us, but we'll simply come back. You'll never get rid of us."  
Loeben could literally study how the mind of the tall pilot fought against what he had just heard. He watched satisfied with himself how the blonde woman with the big blue eyes stared at the Major. Confused and bewildered. It was wonderful! The chaos in their heads, the fear in their eyes. The worry of no longer being the powerful, all-knowing and all-dominating race. Pity that he wouldn't be here any longer to bathe in their despair. His body was getting weaker and weaker. A disadvantage of the human design.

"You know what I think? I think you're lying. If you could have transferred outta here, you would've done it long before. Right after you saw us docking. But you can't, because all this resurrection shit you're talking about is frakshit." O'Neill spat words full of scorn. But Loeben wasn't upset. A pleasant calm had settled over his body. He couldn't move any longer and he felt his lungs filling with blood. But he wasn't hurting. It would be over soon. Well, not really over. Not for him. He would come back in a body just like this. Young, fresh, unconsumed and full of life.  
"Doesn't matter if you believe me or not. Sooner or later, you'll realize that you've got no chance. The day will come when you can not hide from the things human kind has done."  
No sooner than he had uttered those menacing words, his head rolled to the side and his eyes closed for the last time.

The next few minutes Carter and O'Neill stood wordlessly, staring at Conroy's dead body. Jack's mind was totally messed up. Part of him refused to believe anything the toaster had said. But another part, getting stronger every second, was increasingly aware that Conroy had certainly told them the truth. Not that anything of that shit sounded even a little bit logical in his ears. He had no fraking idea how this resurrection thingy could be technically possible. Still, the certainty sat like a stone in his stomach, correlating with the sardonic eyes of the human form Cylon. The way Loeben had grinned. Bold and challenging. But also satisfied….triumphant, even as he was dying. And indeed, O'Neill was the one still alive, although he felt like he'd lost some sort of confrontation.

"What does he mean by that? 'The things human kind has done'?" Asked the woman next to him. Her voice not more than a stunned whisper. There was no great desire in him to respond. He felt sick.  
"I don't know." He replied truthfully.  
"Do you believe him? Resurrection? What if he's right?"  
Wow, she possessed a really curious mind. But her eagerness to know things and subtle demand that he was supposed to know all the answers irritated him.  
"I don't have a fraking clue!" Jack retorted with more fury than he had wanted to display. Abruptly she looked away, hiding her face and biting her lip. He sighed. No matter what situation, he always managed to transform in a rude klutz. Her curiosity was a bit annoying, but she had saved his ass. More than once. She didn't deserve to be the target for his bottled-up rage. Jack raised his hand apologetically.  
"I'm sorry, okay? Blame it on the lack of oxygen?" He offered her a roguish pardon and received a indulgent nod in return.  
"It's okay."

"I don't know what he meant." O'Neill began, because he somehow felt the need to share his thoughts with her. "And I don't now if this resurrection thingy is for real. But I do know, that I don't want to stick around and wait for his buddies to arrive and roast our asses."

Carter thought about that briefly. She wasn't arguing with him, thus he assumed that she agreed. Jack stretched his body to get rid of the tension and grimaced, when his back crackled.  
Yes, age made itself noticeable occasionally.  
"Well, let's head back to Galactica." He suggested to the door at the other side of the pump room. A big, green sign over the doorframe saying 'Exit'. At least the dead bastard had kept his word to show them a way out.

Jack had taken a few wobbly steps, when he was stopped again by Carter's absence. She was still standing beside the Cylon's lifeless body, staring at it with not concealed fascination. Like it was a puzzle she wanted to solve. O'Neill shook his head. The woman's curiosity would get her in trouble sooner or later.  
"What about him?" She asked, enlightening him about what was going on in that brainy head of hers. "We should take him with us."  
"Why?"  
"Because we could examine his body. Maybe we'll find some hints whether he told us the truth."  
The CAG sighed, shoulders slumped. Just what he needed! Dragging the cold guy through Ragnar Station. She was right, of course. And he was a bit annoyed, that he hadn't thought of that. But like he'd said, the lack of oxygen.  
"I was afraid you'd say that."  
"You know I'm right."  
"Fraid you'd say that too."

A good-natured smile appeared on her face.  
"I'll take the arms, you'll take the legs? Are you fit for that?"  
He snorted defensively. What a question! Of course he was fit. He was always fit. Even if he was not fit, he was still fitter than most. After all, he was Galactica's CAG and fitness was part of the job description. If he had to, he'd carry the lifeless body all by himself.  
"Yes, sure! What are we waiting for? Let's go. I'm bursting with energy." Jack understood that, perhaps, he'd praised his physical prowess a little bit too enthusiastic. When he bent down to grab dead Loeben's legs, he could see out of the corner of his eyes how superwoman was biting her lips to keep from laughing.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry for the delay! But with everything that happened in the last week, especially in Paris, I didn't feel like spending my time with something as mundane as writing fanfiction. I just couldn't take my eyes away from the news channel. From where I live, it's just a few hours to France. This felt like it happened to my neighbors next door. And then, the next day, everyone's talking about war. Then there's this apparently barely averted attack in Hannover. What a crazy week!

For that reason, you get two chapters. This one wasn't really planned. It's rather short and may feel a little bit rushed. But I felt like I had to add this little scene. Hope you like.

* * *

Chapter 12: Cottle's Cold Cuts

The sore skin of his neck itched like crazy. And the damned shot Doc Cottle had injected him in his typically unmotivated, but no less dutiful, manner wasn't helping things much. A decongestant, supposed to make sure that the bruises healed quickly and that he could breath and speak easily. But so far, the effect was minimal. His lungs still ached and his vocal cords felt like they'd been used as shoelaces. Annoyed, he put another bonbon in his mouth. Nurse Montgomery had smuggled them into his pockets before Cottle had a chance to shoo Jack out of the infirmary. The essential oils really eased the pain.

But he refrained, a streak of acute wisdom, from complaining to Doc Cottle about the medicine's poor effect on his injuries. Not when Cottle was this special kind of grumpy, holding a sharp scalpel in his hand and ready to perform the autopsy on Loeben Conoy's dead body. One should not be fooled by his white hair, the deep wrinkles or the age marks on his hands, because his mind was as sharp as his work tools. And he sure knew to use it. His hands didn't tremble. Not even a bit. Quietly and evenly, Cottle slid the sharp scalpel over the corpse's torso. Cutting through the pale skin and cold flesh underneath. A fine line of blood seeped through the cut, Cottle's fingers dabbing it off thoroughly with soft cotton.

Normally, he had aides for such mundane tasks as wiping blood. But no one else was present during this autopsy. Just Doc Cottle and Major O'Neill were there. Only a hand of people besides them knew about what was happening in the cold and sterile room. It was because of the precarious reason for this autopsy. Because of what Conoy had said before he passed away. That he was a Cylon. A humanoid Cylon which was, externally, indistinguishable from a real human. And now, they needed a confirmation that the dead body on the table in front of them was indeed a toaster. Something official, something more substantial than the fact that - whatever Conoy had been - his face had melted like a candle. Commander Adama had called a meeting with the leading officers and their civilian counterparts, discussing what had happened and what had to be done in the future.

Therefore, Doc Cottle was here. He was the expert and it was expected that he found clear evidence. Ideally, some kind of hint how to distinguish between Cylon and human. Accordingly to that task, the doctor approached the matter soberly. Dealing with the man was difficult, no question. But there was no need to feel intimidated by this rugged, sometimes disinterested, man. Jack suspected that it was Cottle's self-defense mechanism. He hid and isolated his emotions from all the misery that ended up on his operating table, letting bad temper define his outer appearance. Just that was Cottle's strength. The doctor knew exactly what depended on this autopsy and still, it was easy for him to shake off the pressure. He was not impressed by the requirements, simply doing his job like he was doing it for more than 40 years now. That was exactly what O'Neill liked about the older man. He was always honest. Always spoke the truth, never talked in riddles or hid something behind flimsy arguments. With Doc Cottle, you always knew how things stood.

Jack watched as Cottle took the rip retractor from a metal table and applied it on Conoy's torso, the two blunt metal hooks boring into the cold meat. The doctor used the attached winder and slowly, the chest of the other man was forced wide open. O'Neill looked away in disgust. There were some things he really, really, really didn't have to see.  
Of course, the good Doc noticed his evasive glance and addressed it in his usual charming way.  
"You're not gonna blow chunks on my table, right Major?"  
For Cottle's conditions, the question was indeed humorously.  
Jack cleared his throat and dangled his legs from the edge on the table he was sitting on.  
"Nope. There'd have to something in me to in order to throw anything up."  
Fittingly, his stomach chose this particular moment to rumble.  
Cottle shook his head amused. "Hard day at the office?"  
Jack sighed. Suddenly, unusual for him, not in the mood to joke around.  
"The hardest."  
The Doc grumbled on. "You'll survive it, boy."

O'Neill didn't know why, but there was something about the old man that he sincerely liked. Although he hated needles in any kind of way, talking to the good ole Doc always made him feel better. He was like the bad uncle no one of the rest of the family liked, but all the kids knew that he told the funniest stories. You just had to like that guy.

Cottle slipped on a new pair of transparent gloves and looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Nodding approvingly when he saw that the pilot had recovered himself.  
"Good. Now, here comes the really yucky part."  
"Yippie." Remarked Jack ironically, forcing himself to look at the Doc digging his hands and arms in the open chest. He was rummaging through the bowels like Jack used to rage through his sock drawer. When the bloody hands emerged again, they carried a slimy organ. Cottle looked around for the needed scale that was sitting on another table, just out of his reach. With a grunt, he requested Jack's help. The Major avoided the need to stand up and be forced to see the goo more accurate that he wanted, by giving the table a solid kick. The rolls on the table legs squealed over the greenish floor as the desk slowly rolled towards Cottle.

The Doc boycotted a 'Thank you' and instead let the organ fall into a provided bowl. Jack grimaced at the splashing sound.  
"Lung weights about 1,3 kg." growled Cottle, wiping his hands on the white coat. He looked like a butcher.  
"And….that's normal? I mean, for a human?" Jack asked. After all, they were looking for anything that proofed the cold body's otherness.  
"Yes. Are you writing that down, O'Neill?"  
"Me?"  
The doc searched the small room with his eyes, emphasizing the fact that there was no one else here but them. "I don't see anyone else and I've got my hands full."  
 _Hands full indeed_ , the pilot thought and dutifully grabbed a notepad and pen from the table. He noted: Lung 1,3 kg. Result: normal.

This way, the two men worked their way trough the entire interior of dead Conoy's body. Cottle fishing the organs and Jack noting weight and results. Unfortunately for them, they found no evidence indicating that the inner workings of a humanoid Cylon were different in any way from a real human. Doc Cottle stood undecidedly in front of the wide opened chest.  
"Hmm?"  
"What's up?" Jack wanted to know, hoping that the older man had found something at last.  
"Maybe this Conoy guy was lying? Maybe he's just as mortal as the rest of us?" the doctor mused to himself.  
O'Neill shook his head. "No. I was there when he died. Conoy believed the shit he told me."

The chief medical officer beckoned the CAG to him. "Come over here."  
Jack swallowed his protest. He refused to act like a kid. Reluctantly, he stepped up to the autopsy table. Cottle pointed to the chest and O'Neill's eyes followed.  
"What do you see?"  
The Major pursed his lips, not sure what to say. What was there to see? He wasn't a doctor, had no ideal what he was supposed to discover.  
"Uhm….a lotta gloo?"  
It really resembled this gelatinous stuff that was sold in small pots as children's toys.

Cottle didn't respond to the joke, instead he threw another pair of bloody gloves in the carbage can.  
"There is nothing not-human to see. Everything looks perfectly normal. "  
"What about the blood?" Jack pointed to the blood samples that were being analyzed. The Doc had taken a number of samples before the actual autopsy. He grumbled as he walked to the blood analysis machine and studied several sheets of the results of the blood exam. In the meantime, Jack tried to ignore the dead body in the room.

Somehow, it felt like Conoy was watching him out of his open, milky eyes. But of course, that was nonsense. Yet, O'Neill had to admit in retrospect , that the Cylon had spooked him. Not so much because he had almost succeeded in killing him, but with the prospect of human Cylon's creeping into their crew. He resisted the impulse to cover Conoy's face with a sheet. That was childish. Loeben Conoy was dead. At least, his body was. There was no immediate harm coming from him.

"And? Found something interesting?" O'Neill asked.  
The doctor snorted angrily, slamming the results on the table.  
"Nothing! Nothing at all! Not a single conspicuity. This has to be the healthiest man I've ever seen!"  
Jack frowned. "Would make sense, assuming that this resurrection stuff Is true. They can't get sick if they replace the body regularly." He warned and turned contemplatively to the body, leaning with his hands on the table. Ignoring the corpse's unblinking eyes, he stared at the empty chest. Jack didn't want to attend the meeting empty-handed.

He heard Cottle rummaging through his instruments.  
"Let's try something else." Murmured the doctor and appeared beside Jack with a shiny ax in his hand. The words had just left his mouth, when the sharp tool rushed down. The Major pulled his hands back instinctively. "Hey! Watch that!"  
The doc had chopped off one of Loeben's hands with a single blow and for Jack's taste, there had been far too little distance between the severed hand and his own.

"What now?"  
"I'll cremate one hand to take a look at the ash."  
"Oookay…why?"  
Cottle opened the door to the incinerator and threw the hand in. "So far, we've looked at the cellular level. We may have more luck at the molecular level."  
Well, that sounded logical, even in Jack's ears. Considering that he was no scientist at all. He knew almost everything there was to know about Vipers and Raptors and possessed a keen interest in celestial bodies, although that was more of an hobby. But molecular biology? That was too nerdy for his little grey cell's.

"Why just one hand?" He inquired while the fire was working in the oven.  
Cottle looked at him like he was an idiot. "You've got any idea how long it takes to burn a human body?"  
 _A whole human body? Well, if a hamburger needed about four minutes on each side, then a grown man needed….uh, yuck.  
_ "No idea."  
The doctor had expected this answer. "Too long, O'Neill. Much too long."

O'Neill passed the waiting time working out the kinks in his neck. Cottle covered the body with a large cloth. When they were done, someone would come to get rid of the rest. For those who were not privy to Loeben Conoy's secret, he was just someone else who died today.  
Jack looked at his watch. The meeting between the military and civilian leaders would begin soon, but he would be late anyway. They had to wait for him. After all, they were meeting to discuss this autopsy's results. Thinking about the possible consequences, he felt a pulsating headache announcing itself. What the heck should they do, if Conoy had told the truth?

The oven beeped. Cottle opened the door and took a sample of the ash. He placed the particles under a microscope. Squinting one eye, he used the other one to find something unusual under the microscope's lens. O'Neill was waiting behind him, impatience rolling off him in waves.  
"Well, kiss my ass!" The doctor finally exclaimed.  
"What? Found something?"  
The older man moved away from the microscope, motioning for Jack to take a look himself.  
"See yourself."  
Jack mirrowed Cottles moves and studied the sample. Unfortunately, he had no clue what he looked at.  
"What exactly should I look for?"

The doc knew him well enough to know that the Major didn't need a lengthy answer. So he, bless him, made it short. Coming straight to the point.  
"This guy there, is definitely not human."  
Jack's eyes grew wide, his pulse quickening.  
"For real? So, it's a Cylon?"  
"I've never seen something like that. The skeleton, the material constituting the bone and cartilage, is artificial. Not organic. No doubt. Whatever this man was, he was not human."

O'Neill grabbed the table's edge, taking in the consequences of these results. Beside him, Cottle was breathing heavily. A seldom sign of his advanced age.  
"This changes everything, or does it not Major?"  
Jack ran his hand through his hair, hesitating. What should he say? He was no oracle with the ability to see the future.  
"No. It doesn't change anything." He finally answered. Cottle's irritated eyes met him, demanding an explanation.  
O'Neill shrugged. "We've been in deep shit before, and we're still in deep shit now."

This drew a rare laugh out of the old doctor. He patted the tall pilot's shoulders reassuringly as he walked past him.  
"Truer words were never spoken."  
Then he disappeared through the door, leaving Jack alone with the corpse. When the clinical silence became to much, O'Neill left too. Preparing himself to report to his superiors.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Hello Madame President

Jack rushed through the narrow corridors of Battlestar Galactica. With Cottle's autopsy results in his hands, he had no time to lose. Especially not when considering the information a hurried Petty Officer had told him in passing. Everything happened at high speed. This was a crazy day and O'Neill fought against getting infected by the surrounding chaos.

Just a few hours had passed since Carter and he had returned from Ragnar Station with the Cylon in the human costume in addition. A meeting with the leading officers had been summoned in a hurry.  
This was all he knew before attending the autopsy. What no one had bothered telling him, was what had happened in the meantime. Carter and Jackson had been picked up from the infirmary and placed under arrest at the brig. Jack was willing to bet his ass that Colonel Tigh had a hand in this, wanting to restore his battered reputation. But the two civilians wouldn't have to stay alone for long. They'd get company soon enough.

And as it was often the matter when some unforeseen development on Galactica took place, Starbuck was right in the middle of things. She'd stolen -ahem lent - a Viper for an unauthorized recon mission at the verge of the surrounding nebula of gas giant Ragnar. Her original intent had been to see what else was there in space with them. And she'd found a lot. On one side of the nebula lurked a huge fleet of Cylon ships. Whether their presence was pure coincidence, or if Loeben Conoy had told the truth after all, resurrecting with all his knowledge in a new human body and telling his pals were to find them, they had no way to know. For now, however, they seemed to be save in the atmosphere of Ragnar nebula. The EM field effectively interfering with the Cylon's Dradis.

Much more astonishing than the huge enemy fleet was what Starbuck had discovered at the other end of the nebula. A second fleet. A ragtag collection of all kinds of civilian ships. Refugees. Survivors. They had unsuspectingly rested so very close to the Cylons, that it would've been a matter of time before their destruction. The atmosphere seemed to interfere with the Cylon's systems more than they'd thought previously. This was the only way to explain that Starbuck had been able to find and lead them into the protective fog without arousing the Cylon's attention.

And although they could also talk about some commendation for the female pilot, Starbuck was put under arrest too and on her way to the brig. A disciplinary action that was understandable and even appropriate, but under their current situation pretty much irresponsible. They needed every capable pilot.

Pumped with energy, Jack O'Neill finally bolted through the heavy iron door that led to the conference room. His eyes scanned the room. A long table was set up with enough chairs for at least a dozen people. He was the last of the military personnel to arrive and if the seating arrangements represented an indication about the course of the coming conversation, then there was a fight for competence announcing itself. All officers had settled at the back side of the table, so that the obviously late politicians had to take a seat opposite the uniformed men. Jack nodded at each of the other officers, and sat down on the last remaining chair next to Chief Tyrol.

But he wasn't the only member of this exquisite club of leaders who was late. The President was late too. Yes, that's right, Starbuck had found them a new President amidst the refugees too. However, this President was an old acquaintance. President Laura Roslin, former Minister of Education, had attended Galactica's disarmament ceremony. That damn ceremony seemed to be years ago. She'd been on her way back to Caprica when the Cylons launched their attack. If it hadn't bee for Lt. Lee Adama, her escort, she would've been shot down too. Adama jr. had used a clever trick to outsmart the screw heads. Later, minister Roslin had received an intercepted wireless message reporting that every higher ranking politician was dead, making her President Roslin instead.

This had to be a first in the long history of the Colonies. A president who had no Colony to govern. Instead, Roslin had picked up a convoy of scattered and heavily damaged ships and brought them here, due to Lee Adama's speculation that if his father had survived, he'd come here to get ammunition from Ragnar Station. Although it was known that father and son were not particularly close, Lee had still been able to anticipate his dad's reaction correctly, thus saving the lives of thousands of survivors. If someone was looking for the hero of the day, Lee Adama was the winner.

Thus, they would not only have to reconsider what Galactica and it's crew should do, but also what was right considering the ships full of refugees. They had to debate about both aspects, trying to make a compromise between the military leaders and the provisional civilian government. It was still not clear, if Adama would proceed with his order to go back into the fight with the Cylons. And now they had to take care about he holocaust survivors too. Just thinking about it gave him a headache. That's why he was a pilot. O'Neill had never wanted to do something else but flying.

Jack allowed himself a glance out of the conference room's wide window. He could see two commercial passenger transport ships and three smaller, private vessels. More than 60 ships were currently crowded together, staying near the only armed ship and waiting for their military and civilian decision makers to decide what to do next.

What a farce. About a half dozen people would decide what should happen with tens of thousands scared, traumatized and injured people. Debating about what was good for them. And he was supposed to be one of those persons. How could he possibly know what was good for others, when he still wasn't completely sure if he was glad that he had survived? Why him, when millions of better men and women had lost their lives today?

Someone coughed slightly, steering Jack out of his gloomy thoughts. With him in the conference room was of course Commander Adama as chief commander of the remaining military ship. To his left sat the ever-grumpy Colonel Tigh. On the right Lt. Gaeta, was fingering nervously the documents he brought along. He was the tactical officer, also responsible for navigation. But he'd spent the last hours analyzing the transcripts of the last wireless messages they had received. Besides Felix Gaeta, Chief Tyrol sat uncomfortably in his chair. After the death of higher ranking officers, he was now the most experienced and competent engineer Galactica had to offer. O'Neill didn't envy him. No matter what they would decide at this table, his domain had definitely increased. Now, he wasn't only responsible for everything that happened in the hangar, but also for the entire Battlestar and who knew, perhaps even for several civilian and commercial vessels. They had no idea how good equipment and crew of the other ships was.

Finally, the heavy door to the conference room was opened by one of the black-clad Marines. Their civilian counterparts had arrived. The new president strode into the room first. Laura Roslin was in her early fifties, but she was still a beautiful woman. She had long, dark hair and alert, intelligent eyes. Her elegant suit tagged her as a someone who was important right away and her posture indicated that she was expecting some kind of fight. Behind her, a young man followed. He carried a bulging briefcase, her assistant? The third party-goer was a small and thin man with shoulder-length, black hair. Jack recognized him immediately, although he had almost no free time and decided not to waste those precious days with watching stupid game shows or current gossip in television. But this man had been the dominating topic in all media for almost a year now. There was hardly a chance to escape his airtime.

It was Dr. Gaius Baltar, the superstar, ladykiller, millionaire and bon viveur among Caprica's scientific elite. If you believed the rumors about him, especially the one's he spread himself, there was nothing he couldn't do. He was a genius. That's why he was probably such a busy man. Whether it was commercial holoband-technology, colonial defense system development or computer technology designing. He had his scrawny fingers in every pie possible. Accumulating money and guzzling it away on super fancy festivities. He was also considered one of late President Richard Adar's best buddies. O'Neill hoped that it was true what they said about his abilities. Coincidentally, Dr. Baltar was the man who'd taken Karl 'Helo' Agathorn's place in the saving Raptor. An excellent pilot and outstanding personality had sacrificed himself for Baltar. Jack hoped he was worth it.

The officers stood up respectfully as President Roslin held out a pale hand to the Commander. Adama took the offered hand and after the usual handshakes were exchanged, they resumed their seats again.

The new President was anything, but not shy and if she was aware of the dramatic circumstances that made her the new boss, she managed to suppress any kind of doubt she might feel. Naturally, she started speaking.  
"Gentleman, thank you for coming together on such short notice. There is much to discuss." She began in a quiet, but controlled voice.  
"It is an honor to have you here, Madame President. I think I speak for all aboard Battlestar Galactica, when I say that we're all relived that you could escape the Cylons." Replied Adama and the two leaders eyed each other expectantly. A struggle for power and competence was in the air, but the meeting remained polite for now.

Like a real pro, Roslin accepted the Commander's welcome with a smooth nod.  
"Thanks again, Commander Adama. Should we start?"  
"Yes. May I suggest that my officers start with a sitrep for their areas of responsibility, so we are all up to date." Suggestend Adama und again, the President responded with an approving nod. O'Neill wasn't quite sure, if there was real understanding for their situation behind her competent mask, or if she was just anxious to defend her claim of power.

"Yes, well…" Colonel Tigh began in his known uncharming way. "Galactica has suffered some serious damage on the outer shell during the battle. But nothing that keeps us from fighting. However, we've lost the left flight pod due to the impact of a nuclear missile. That's a mess down there, I guess it'll take a while before we can use it again. The ammunition the Chief brought from Ragnar Station should be sufficient. Everyone who can walk is aiming everything on this ship that can shoot."  
Tigh's unfocused eyes wandered around and he cleared his throat before he continued.  
"Now for the bad news. We have lost a total of 536 crewmembers. 93 are still missing. Most of them engineers and deckhands. Pilots too. Will take us a while to compensate for that."  
A stunned silence filled the room following Tigh's report. They all assumed that their losses were big, but to hear the exact number of victims was still something completely different. Like a punch in the gut.

O'Neill rubbed this throbbing temples. There hadn't been enough time to see for himself how many of his people had survived. The chaos was just too big to make precise statements and it drove him crazy not to know all the names. It was his job to know these things. His responsibility. He felt like he was failing them. All of his flygirls and flyboys.

Next was Lt. Gaeta's turn. He was spreading his papers out on the table. It was a sort of timeline he'd created out of the wireless messages they'd received.  
"Almost exactly 8 hours ago, we received many reports about system failures throughout the whole fleet. Initially, these messages had routine character, so we didn't react immediately. But half an hour later, there were first messages of visual contact with Cylon ships. The Perseus was the first ship that was involved in a fight. Then the Atlantia and Kronos reportet enemy contact too. Fleet Command on Picon took over the management and ordered a large-scale counter-offensive. Due to the observed troop movement, Picon realized that the Cylon's target had to be Caprica. The entire fleet, led by Admiral Negala, gathered in Caprica's orbit."  
The paper rustled as Gaeta turned to the next page. The following was an outline of the final minutes of the 12 Colonies. At least the events which could be reconstructed from the partially mutilated wireless messages.

"The last wireless messages we received from Admiral Negala contained the confirmation about an enemy fleet forming and that it was indeed the Cylons. The last message was from the Hercules, reporting the death of Admiral Negala and the complete destruction of the Fleet Command and the Battlestars. A little later, the line went dead. From this moment on, we were practically blind. We still can't reach anyone on any frequency. No answer from the Colonies, a Battlestar or one of our space stations. Not even white noise. "  
Geata searched for words to describe the complete emptiness.  
"It's like they all suddenly disappeared. Like we are the lest people in the universe. From Major O'Neill and Lt. Valerii, we know that the entire fleet was indeed destroyed. In addition, they also observed the detonation of 24 nuclear bombs on Caprica. Taking our own standard nuclear bombs as basis for calculations, we have to expect the worst."

"And that would be? Out with it, Lt. Geata. We need to hear that." Urged the President admirably gently. Geata opened the first two buttons of his collar before he answered.  
"Even if we are overly optimistic, Caprica is atomically contaminated for at least the next thousands of years. For humans, animals and every kind of vegetation." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, almost as if he wanted to apologize that there was nothing encouraging to say. "With the appropriate dosage of anti-radiations pills it could be possible to survive for some time. Maybe even a few months without any radiation injuries, but in no case longer than year. Considering how aggressive the Cylons attacked, adding the fact that we are not receiving any kind of wireless messages, we have to assume that the same thing has happened to every one of the other 11 Colonies."

If the things he said weren't bad enough, the stuff he left for imagination was even worst. The planet was contaminated, inhabitable for humans. They could never go back again. The 12 Colonies were lost to them, forever.

It felt wrong that everyone present was taking in the reports seemingly emotionless. But it was necessary. They had no time to mourn everything and everyone they'd lost. Not until they'd negotiated a plan for the immediate future. Despite the stressful situation, despite their own worries, they had no other choice but to remain factual. Isolating their hearts and minds emotionally from the grief they were supposed to feel. This was their job. People were trusting them with their lives. Facing facts, the people sitting in this room were the only ones left of the colonial command personnel, military and politically.

The Chief was the next one to give a sitrep.  
"As the Colonel said, the Galactica has suffered some damage to the outer shell. We definitely need to take care of that soon. But for the time being, there should be no danger of serious damage. Apart from that, the left flight pod is almost completely destroyed. If we want to use it again, we have to put a lot of time and resources in a complete reconstruction. The good news is, despite the nuclear detonation, there is no measurable radiation inside the ship. Although there are reports about some damage to the power lines and the freight elevators, the primary systems are working without failure."  
"What about the FTL-drive?" inquired Commander Adama. Tyrol nodded conscientiously.  
"We all know that Galactica's FTL-drive wasn't used in more than 20 years. Still, it worked perfectly. A few circuits are fried, but my people are already busy overriding them. However, the drive is out of date and it wasn't constructed for regularly jumping this kind of distances, so we can't expect full performance in the future. But in any case, I can guarantee you that we'll have a functioning FTL-drive for the next few months. At the latest, we have to seriously think about improvements in about 6 months."

Now, it was O'Neill's turn. There was not much to report. After all, he'd spend his last hours at Ragnar Station and hanging around in Cottle's autopsy room.  
"As already mentioned, we have lost a large number of pilots. I can't give you an exact number, but we are working on it. The more urgent problem is the status of our squadrons. Due to disarmament and plans to convert this Battlestar into a museum ship, our contingent of Viper's was already running low before the attacks. Our Viper's of the model Mark III, including their pilots, are either destroyed or listed mia. We have left 40 Vipers of the older model Mark II, but as you all know they were intended either for scrap press or exhibition at the museum. According to this, the technical condition is suboptimal at best. For the Raptors, the situation is more relaxed. We got 26 left, and they are all fully functional."  
"Are we able to set up a proficient squadron to get back into the battle?" Inquired Adama again. Jack grimaced. He knew what the Commander was aiming at and he hated to disappoint him. But sugarcoating the facts was not an option.

"Sorry Sir, absolutely not. We could, perhaps, send out 10 or 15 vipers." He threw Tyrol a quizzical look and the Chief confirmed the estimated number of functioning Vipers with a short nod.  
"If the pilots are good enough, that's enough to wipe out a bunch of scrap heads." Growled Tigh and O'Neill couldn't help but suspect that the XO was still pissed off about the confrontation at the CIC.  
"You're talking about the technical requirements, but that's too one sided." Jack pointed out and felt President Roslin's attention on himself.  
"We need to consider the human component. I haven't had a chance to talk to my pilots in detail, but many of them are injured or at last battered. And I'm not just talking about the physical condition. Many of them are nervous, scared and exhausted. It would be irresponsible to force them into a cockpit. As I said, if we really need to form a squadron, I guess we could sent out a maximum of 15 Vipers. But that doesn't mean these pilots are in full possession of their mental and physical powers. They are just the one's who can still keep a minimum of composure."

"I see." Commented the Commander grimly. Jack could see that he disliked the news. But Adama was a man of clear and honest words. This was a similarity between Commander and his CAG. Nice talking was neither his, nor O'Neill's style.  
"Did I understand that right, Galactica is currently in no position to attack the Cylon fleet?" Stressed Roslin, questioning the two senior officers with demanding eyes. Before anyone of them could say anything, Adama's deep voice cut through the otherwise silent room.  
"Nobody said that."  
Roslin frowned. "The Major was pretty clear with his words. How can you understand that wrong?"

Adama pulled his classes from his nose and fired a relentless look at the new President.  
"Miss Roslin, my primary objective at the present time is to repair the Galatica and continue to fight."  
Roslin was speechless, but only for a short moment.  
"You want to return? Right into the battlefield? Why? There is nothing left to fight for."  
"We don't know that with certainty. It's possible that there are still colonialists fighting. They need our help. This ship and this crew won't retreat."

The President ran a harried hand through her hair.  
"With all due respect, Commander Adama, but that's crazy. What you suggest is a suicide mission."  
Suddenly, she pointed her fingers at O'Neill and he didn't like it that she used him to emphasize her position.  
"Your own CAG was there and saw it with his own eyes. The entire fleet is destroyed. Caprica is uninhabitable for humans. The refugees tell us similar stories about the other colonies. There is nothing left you and your crew could recapture. We can't return."

"This is not your decision to make. We will leave as soon as possible. To find the enemy. We're at war, and that's my mission." The Commander remained stubborn. But the new President seemed to be pretty boneheaded herself.  
"I honestly don't know why I have to keep telling you this, but the war is over."  
"That's where you're wrong. It hasn't begun yet."  
"That's insane and you know it. This is just your military pride speaking. But we have more important things to take care of. There are thousands of civilian refugees out there who don't stand a chance without your ship to protect them. They are the last of us."

"You would rather that we run?" Adama almost spat those words into her face.  
O'Neill knew that the word 'flight' wasn't part of the Commander's vocabulary and normally, he would agree with the old man. But Roslin was right. Even though it was hard to admit and the role as fugitive wasn't tailored for his shoulders. But out there in space was nothing left for them to return to. Nothing worth dying for. If they wouldn't have found the refugees, they may have displayed one last act of heroic bravery, throwing themselves into a losing battle. But now, there were possibly ten thousands of civilians dependent on their protection. They couldn't refuse this responsibility.

"Yes, absolutely." Answered Roslin fiercely. "That is the only sane thing to do here. Exactly that: run. We leave this solar system, and we don't look back."  
"And we go where?"  
"I don't know yet. Another star system, another planet. Somewhere where the Cylon's won't find us. Somewhere to start new."

If there was one thing Adama detested more than escape, it was haphazard and aimless action. His voice was very soft now, he almost whispered. Still, he managed to sound threatening. He rose from his chair and looked down at Roslin, while he emphasized every word with a blow on the table.  
"You can run if you like. This ship, this crew, will stand and fight."  
Roslin understood the challenge. She drew herself up to her full height and replied Adama's words vigorously.  
"I'm gonna be straight with you here. The human race is about to be wiped out. We have ten thousands of people left, and that's it. Now, if we want to survive as a species, we need to get the hell out of here and we need to start having babies."

"Don't be so dramatic, lady." Colonel Tigh joined the dispute. "As Commander Adama said. That's not your decision. I know that actually _doing_ something must be foreign to you. You've probably spend your time in a comfortable office, pushing paper back and forth. But we've been preparing for this for all our lives. We won't back off."

Roslin stood against two officers now, against the Commander and his XO. She knew that she needed support form their ranks if she wanted to gain their acceptance. Her eyes fell on O'Neill and as he noticed this, he tried to make himself as small as possible in his hair. A rather stupid attempt, considering his height.  
"What do you say, Major…?" Apparently, she'd chosen him to be her ally.  
"O'Neill, Madame President."  
"Well, Major O'Neill. I understand that this is not an easy question, but I ask you to reply truthfully and according to your experience. Think about all those lives that depend on it. You've been there when the Cylons destroyed our whole fleet. You've seen that our defense strategy couldn't protect us. Do you share the opinion that it would be wise for Galactica to return to the battle?"

Jack felt all eyes on him. The literal weight on his shoulders. Damn, it was hot in here! He knew that he had to disappoint his Commander. He didn't want to. But the President was right. O'Neill didn't doubt Adama's competence. But there were so many lives at stake. The refugees had no significant stocks and certainly no way to defend themselves. The Cylons could wipe them out like one would get rid of a nasty bug. Because that's exactly what they were for the Cylons, bugs. And what did you do with bugs? Right, you wiped them out. Those civilians were going to be slaughtered, just like the paralyzed colonial fleet. And if O'Neill knew one thing, than it was that he never again wanted to see something like that. And he didn't want to be responsible for it too. This wasn't just about them, the crew, anymore. This was not the time to be egoistic.

He took a deep breath before answering.  
"No, Madame President. Considering the condition of the ship and its crew, I have to speak against a direct confrontation. I think we should follow your plan."  
Rosling chastised Adama and Tigh with a triumphant look.  
"There you have it, gentleman. And I don't think your Major is alone with his opinion."

Tigh snorted and Jack was sure that the older man would like filleting him with a sharp knife.  
"The Major can think whatever he wants to think. But that doesn't matter for the rest of us. You and O'Neill, you can run if you prefer. We're not."  
The Colonel's reproachful eyes burned in Jack's neck, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of responding emotionally. Tigh thought of him as coward and traitor. So what? O'Neill wasn't impressed with that. He didn't have a particularly high opinion of Tigh himself. Instead, he prepared a well planned counter attack. Tigh had no right to sit there, so self righteously. Not after he'd been ready to blow almost 50 deckhands into space, sacrificing their lives for the easy solution. The Colonel was the last person with the right to talk about cohesion.

"What about the civilians? You want to leave them here? Is that your solution?"  
"Oh, they're probably safe for the time being."  
Now it was O'Neill's turn to grunt dismissively.  
"Yeah, the emphasis is on 'probably'" He answered and was well aware of the large dose of sarcasm in his voice. He noticed how Roslin had to suppress a knowing grin. The Colonel seemed not to have expected persistent resistance, so he glared angrily at the CAG.  
"The Cylons may not know that the civilians are here. Maybe they're just after the military and they'll leave other ships alone." Commented Lt. Gaeta, trying to maintain an objective tone. But his intent to defuse the tension in the room failed miserably.

"That's one hell of an assumption. Besides, the Cylons did just pulverize all of our 12 Colonies. Merciful is not the word I'd associate with them." Jack said and leaned his body forward. Apparently, no one was ready to voice the truth.  
"The truth is, if we go back -leaving the civilian vessels behind- this crew will die. And after the toasters are finished with us, they're gonna hunt the civilians, and they're gonna kill them too. We can choose between certain dead and trying to stay alive a little time longer. Together, as a fleet. I don't know bout you, but I refuse to give the fraking Cylons the chance to get the last of us. That's my opinion."

"And how are we supposed to do that, huh? We can't cram thousands of men, women and children aboard this ship." Argued Tigh.  
"I'm not saying we should. They could jump with us. Like a convoy. We pick a jump spot far enough outside the combat zone for…"  
"What the hell is outside the combat zone at this point?! Did you think about that, you frakking son of a…" blustered the almost bald man and looked like wanted to tear O'Neill apart at any moment. Jack balled his fists and prepared for a confrontation.

"That's enough!"  
"Stop that!"  
Roslin and Adama called out simultaneously. The tempers had raised and especially the Colonel and the CAG were eyeing each other like two boxers heading for the final knockout.

"Commander Adama," Roslin's resolute voice cut through the shouting of the officers. "…Are you planning to stage a military coup?"  
All officers directed their utterly confused eyes at the President. She'd effectively rattled all of them. Adama took a moment to adjust to the new situation.  
"What?!"  
"Do you plan to declare martial law? Take over the government? Throw me into the brig?"

"Of course not!" He replied, sounding almost as if he took the question as a personal insult. The Commander possessed a very tightly woven code of ethics. A violent military coup was beneath his dignity. He would never force a military leadership upon the survivors. Like every colonialist, he had the greatest respect for democratic decisions. Of course, Roslin hadn't been rightly elected. She was President because there was no one else of the political elite alive. But the emergency regulations that made her acting president had been democratically enacted. For emergencies just like this. Adama had better things to do than call this into question now. He knew, whatever would happen in the future, that they would need the political stability.

The heated atmosphere had calmed down a bit. Also, because everyone was now focused on the two top leaders. A decision as to who would have the last word in the future could fall at any moment.

"Then you do acknowledge my position as president as duly constituted under the article of colonization?" Roslin demanded to know with a calm voice.  
Adama took his time. But O'Neill was pretty sure he knew the answer already. Roslin was the legitimate president and thus the supreme commander of the colonial fleet. Or in this case, the commander of what was left of said fleet. The Galactica. Adama could choose to oppose her policy, but that would equal a military coup. And no one wanted that.

He finally answered with a hard-fought "Yes" and dropped back into his seat.  
"So, you agree with me? This war is over. We lost."  
"Yes."  
All participants in the room sighed with relief. Not only because they knew now that they wouldn't throw themselves into a battle guaranteeing their own death, but also because the fronts were defined. They had just recovered a minimum of stability.

Only Tigh seemed to have problems with this decision.  
"We're running?!" He asked in disbelief.  
"We're not running away." Corrected Adama. "We're retreating strategically. And we're gonna take the civilians with us. We leave this solar systems, and we won't come back."  
"Thank you, Commander Adama." Roslin said in a conciliatory tone.  
O'Neill noticed for the first time, how battered she looked. Somehow feeble, as if this discussion had cost her a great deal of strength.

A relaxing silence filled the room for a few moments. While Adama straightened his glasses, Roslin dabbed beads of sweat form her forehead. Tigh continued to pout.

"Now that that's settled." Began the President again, taking the documents her young assistant handed her.  
"There are two other things I'd like to discuss with you."  
Adama remained silent, a sweeping gesture asking her to go on.

"I'm mainly concerned about the Cylon your CAG brought from Ragnar Station. What's the status here?"  
All attention was on O'Neill now. He was the only one who knew about the results of the autopsy.  
"Doc Cottle says that at first glance, everything about Conoy's body looks human. Internal organs, lymphatic systems and all the other slimy stuff. But he found something when he cremated a hand."  
"Let me guess." Piped up Dr. Baltar for the first time. His posture was a tad too pointy-headed for Jack's taste.  
"Your doctor found unique chemical compounds that reveal the nature of the sample to be synthetic."  
The wise guy was dead on.  
"True. That's what Cottle says."

The implication of this fact hung a few seconds between their heads like heavy smoke, before Roslin broke the spell.  
"So it' true? Cylons look like us now. And we have no way to distinguish between them and us, unless we cut off a body part and burn it?"  
Not a particularly good prospect. O'Neill wasn't keen on losing one of his body parts to prove that he wasn't a toaster.

"Yes, they look like us. And now we have a problem." Confirmed Adama and Jack felt the need to support the statement in his usual unconventional way.  
"Yeah, a big honkin' problem!"  
"If the Cylons look like us, then anyone of us could be a Cylon. We may have to deal with cylon spies on board this ship or any other ship of this fleet." Implied the Commander a fact, everyone of them was thinking about already. Cylon spies among them, in the middle of Galactica's most sensitive compounds. Working, joking, eating and sleeping at their side.  
Subconsciously, those present scrutinized each other. If anyone of them could be a toaster, they could trust no one anymore.

"That's a very frightening possibility. And that's why I asked Dr. Gaius Baltar to accompany me to this meeting." Explained Roslin the presence of the universally known genius.  
"We need a way to screen human from Cylon and Dr. Baltar here is the leading scientific expert. If anyone can find such a method, it's Dr. Baltar."  
Upon the praise, Baltar bowed his head slightly and confidently and folded his hands in front of him.  
"I'll give my best. I guess I could have the first results in a few weeks. Assuming that everything I need is provided."

Roslin turned back to Adama.  
"That's the time you come into play."  
"Me?" Wondered the Commander, leaning back in his chair and waiting. He' complied to her will just a few minutes ago. If the President wanted something else from him, she would have to do all the work.  
"Unfortunately, no other ship in the fleet is able to provide adequate accommodations for Dr. Baltar's experiments. I would therefore ask you to give Mr. Baltar a space for his laboratory and access to all resources and suitably personnel he needs aboard Galactica."

That was a pretty hefty request, moreover, because it was formulated as a command. The meaning behind Roslin's carefully chosen words was evident. One didn't have to like her style, but her demands were definitely well thought trough and making sense in every aspect.  
"I'll see what I can do. However, I want daily reports and I can't allow the doctor to do anything that would endanger this ship and crew."

Roslin agreed with a nod. "No one asks that from you. Your first priority remains the safety of this ship and this fleet, too. I just want us to use the maximum of our resources."  
O'Neill grinned inwardly. He wondered why the former secretary of education hadn't risen among the political shark pool sooner. She was displaying all the needed abilities, using political phrases to persuade someone to help her. He was pretty sure that Adama had already seen through that. But finding a method do distinguish between their people and humanoid Cylons was in their mutual interest.

The president's fingers scurried across the documents in front of her until she found the passage she was interested in. She frowned and small wrinkles formed around her eyes as she looked questioningly at O'Neill.  
"I've got another report about this humanoid Cylons and their ability to…" she searched for the right word. "…to transfer their consciousness to another body when they die. Is that correct? Are we talking about a form of resurrection?"  
"Seems like it." Jack offered as an answer, but he could see that Roslin wasn't satisfied. It seemed that they had to get used to their new president's persistence. She wasn't the type to be satisfied with half-hearted answers.  
"With all due respect, Major, but that sounds crazy."

O'Neill shrugged as he recapped what Loeben Conoy had told him.  
"That's what Conoy claimed. He said that their artificial bodies are interchangeable. If one body dies, their knowledge, memories and consciousness is somehow transferred into a new one."  
Roslin sat tensely in her chair, a pensive look on her face.  
"Do you believe him?"  
At first, he had no clue how to answer that. Buying himself some time to thing, he leaned back and ran his fingers through his already messy hair. He knew that his haircut didn't comply with the prescribed formal haircut for officers. But his hair was at least as stubborn as the rest of him. Some days it was almost impossible to tame the strands. Besides, he liked a little individuality. But his hair was his smallest problem. The truth was, he didn't know if he believed Loeben Conoy. His mind told him no. But somewhere in him was a part more anxious than he liked, and said part was firmly convinced that the Cylon had told the truth. It was more like a foreboding, than real knowledge. It wasn't based on facts, but on sheer instinct. But, how could he explain this without sounding like he was nuts?

"To be honest, I have no idea who this is possible at all. But yes, I think he told the truth. At least, Conoy was firmly convinced that this wasn't the end of him."  
"Maybe that's what he wanted all along. Us sitting here, wasting time to discuss this. He probably said it just to unsettle us." Colonel Tigh offered an explanation, sounding noticeable condescending.  
"Maybe. But he was dying and he knew it. There was almost something like…like anticipation in his eyes as he told me he was immortal. Why should he do that if he knew he wasn't coming back. Besides, he's a frikking Cylon. I'm not even sure if they are able to fake those emotions. In addition, we haven't seen or heard something from them in almost 40 years. Who knows how they evolved in the meantime?"  
"All of this sounds very much science fiction. It's hard for me to believe in some kind of rebirth for Cylons." Mused Roslin.  
"I'm not into science fiction at all. But we also wouldn't have expected that the Cylons could destroy our entire civilization in one day. And yet, here we are now. I mean, as long as we can't prove the opposite, we should at least expect the worst. It would be fatal to be caught with pants down again." Concluded O'Neill expertly.

He was not one who preferred to worry about things that might or not might happen in the future. But in this case, he was wiling to make an exception. Because if Loeben was right, they had to adjust their tactic. Their own crew would have to bear with losses along the way, while no Cylon soldier could be killed at all. Also, the knowledge of those Cylons would never be lost. If their spies learned something, this knowledge was practically uncontainable. And Jack harboured no hopes that there weren't spies among them. After all, they'd somehow managed to infiltrate their defensive systems. There had to be moles.

Roslin took a deep breath, revealing all her fatigue as she massaged her temples.  
"Well gentleman, I'm open for any kind of options. What shall we do now?"  
"We are doing exactly what you suggested, Madame President. We are looking for a point outside the combat zone. We organize ourselves. Then we start our search for a place we can start anew." Adama's deep voice sounded surprisingly conciliatory. He was rewarded with Roslin's first honest smile.  
"I'm relieved that you think like that. Because, all differences aside, we need each other. I can't do this without you."  
"You don't have to, Madame President."

The two leaders exchanged a last glance before Roslin braced her hands on the table.  
"Well, I think we're done for today. I'd like to get some rest and…"  
"Actually, there is something else." O'Neill spoke up.  
It felt uncomfortable to delay the president's well deserved pause, but they had to talk about this. After all, this was about two people.  
"Major, what is it?"

"What are we going to do with the civilians? You know, Sam Carter and Daniel Jackson?"  
Roslin answered with a puzzled look. Apparently, she knew nothing about it. True, they had more urgent matters, but this was important for him. Sure, there was still this terrorist thing to take care of. But in Jack's opinion, the brig was the wrong place for them. Jackson was hurt, could barely walk by himself. And Carter…well, she'd earned his respect. Had saved his ass multiple times on this shitty day. But because their status as terror suspects hadn't been reversed, they were still considered dangerous.

"Who's that?" Roslin wanted to know and promptly received a grim response from Colonel Tigh.  
"They are two terrorists the GDD nabbed the last night. The Major here thought it was a good idea to bring them here and now they are our problem."  
"Terrorists? So they belong to the Astral Queen. Where's the problem?"  
The Astral Queen, the prison ship, was among the fleet of survivors.  
"The problem's exactly that. Those accusations are based on assumptions only. Personally, I don't believe it." Jack said. For some reason, he couldn't tell why, it was important for him that the two were released form the brig and cleared of all accusations.

Tigh grunted overbearingly.  
"Good thing you're not a judge. The terrorists stay where they are, basta!"  
Slowly but surely, Jack was getting really annoyed with the Colonel.  
"With all due respect, Colonel, but you don't decided that. There is no solid evidence and you know it!"  
"Do you hear yourself talking? We know absolutely nothing about them. They are a constant danger if they stay on this ship. They could be Cylons as well!"  
O'Neill's face was the one of a man ready to stand his ground.  
"Maybe you're the Cylon!"  
Tigh's facial features derailed and his cheeks turned beet red.  
"Don't get fresh with me! Otherwise, you can join your new friends in the brig!"  
"Carter saved my life. And she saved the whole ship almost single handedly. That should count for something."

The lanky Colonel almost exploded with anger. When he spoke, he catapulted tiny particles of salvia across the room.  
"Forgive me if I don't think much of that. Your judgment's not the best."  
"Oh really? Carter's done more in the last 24 hours than you."  
Jack noted dryly, hitting the other officer's soft spot.

Tigh turned for help to the Commander.  
"Come on Bill, those two are dangerous. The guy even hit me."  
"But only because you were willing to send 50 young people to death. Including me and Boomer."  
"I was trying to save this ship!"  
"But you didn't!" Jack protested indignantly and adding, not just because it was true, but also because he knew it would annoy Tigh: "Carter did. And if I might add, she'd not making any fuss about it. She'd not even demanding something."

Roslin lifted her hand to signal that she had something to contribute.  
"I know that this particular matter falls under military law. Nevertheless, I'd like to remind you that the colonial laws still apply. No civilian may be detained without final conviction or trial detention. And much less if there's no evidence. Either you're obtaining valid verdict during a trial, or you have to let them go."

Commander Adama took off his glasses, cleaning them carefully before he answered.  
"I am aware of the legal situation. But I can't ignore a possible threat for this ship."  
"Oh come on, Sir." Protested Jack, adding something to prove his point when he realized how grouchy he'd sounded. "I'll stand bail for them."  
He was amazed with himself about taking that responsibility, not a clue where his confidence came form. But he'd always been one to trust his gut feeling.  
"If that is so." Informed Adama. "Then I see no need to keep the civilians in the brig. I allow them to move into a VIP quarter. The accusation of terrorism is suspended, for now. But they are under house arrest. They're allowed to move freely on their deck, but the rest of the ship is taboo. Make sure that your new friends understand this, Major. I won't tolerate any kind of violation against those rules. Are we clear?"

Jack couldn't help but grin. Triumph felt just too damned good. Above all, when sitting next to miffed Colonel Tigh.  
"Yes, Sir. Thanks, Sir, Madame President. I'll take care of it personally."

But his victory was damped some when Adama asked him to stay for a moment after the meeting was over and everyone else had left the room. Jack knew what was about to come. And to be honest, he probably deserved it too.  
Adama stepped closer to him, a strict whisper enough to put the younger man in his place.  
"Let's be clear about this, Major, you know I like it when my people have a mind of their own. You speak up you mind and you don't care about the consequences. If you think you're right, you stick to it. You're not afraid of confrontations. And usually, that's exactly what I value about you. Why I trust you to be my CAG. But…"  
O'Neill stood ramrod still. None of his muscles moving.

"But, should I ever get the feeling again that you're using the divergences between President Roslin and me to get what you want, be sure you don't want to face those consequences. Do you understand?"  
"Yes, Sir. Crystal clear."  
"Good. Dismissed."

Jack nodded once, then tried to make a quick getaway. He'd just reached the door handle, when Adama held him back one last time.  
"Oh, and one more thing, Major…"  
"Yes, Sir?"  
"Please get Starbuck out of brig too. But make sure that she understands this time that rules apply for her as well."  
"Got it, Sir."

* * *

That's it for now. Sorry to tell you guys, but there are just two more chapters to come. So, see you next time and have a nice week.


	14. Chapter 14

Heloooo guys. Sorry to tell you, but this is the second last chapter of this story. This story will end with a somewhat open end. But don't worry, I'm about 99,9 % sure that I want to continue writing. I'm having too much fun to stop. I'll write something more about my plans for the continuation of this story in the last chapter. I gotta go now-my dog needs to pee : )  
So, have fun with this chapter and please take a minute to write a review if you like.

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Chapter 14: Introducing Starbuck

* * *

Bars. Once again, he was sitting behind prison bars. This time, however, in a narrow cell on board a spaceship called Battlestar Galactica. Actually, the cell wasn't build for more than one person, but Sam and Daniel shared the small space nevertheless. They didn't complain. For one, because they knew from experience that prisoners weren't in the position to voice any demands. On the other hand, because they were too tired to argue and in Daniel's case, his aching leg was wearing him down steadily.

But he refused worrying too much about it. He knew he wasn't in mortal danger, otherwise he'd probably still be in the infirmary instead of a prison cell. After Sam had started her little exploring trip, the grumpy doctor had spared some time for him and his leg. The man's name was Cottle and he should definitely work on his soft skills. Doctor Cottle had, with the omnipresent cigar in his mouth, explained to him that he should consider himself lucky, because he would survive his injury whereas many other people on this day hadn't been so fortunate. But, the older man had advised, she should be prepared for some pain.

Daniel reached into his pant pocket and fingered the pillbox containing the painkillers. The nurse who had given them to him had called it 'morpha pills' and advised him to be careful, because the medicine was very strong and strictly for emergencies. And indeed, his leg was throbbing mercilessly, but he could stand it a little while longer.

He dropped his head on the pillow and stretched his body over the cot, closing his tired eyes. His tired body demanded recovery. Daniel had almost completely lost his sense of time, not knowing for how long he was awake now. It felt like someone was pushing the fast-forward button of his live, the events of this past day passing by in full speed behind his closed eyes.

Sam sat opposite him on the floor, playing with the ragged hem of her black t-shirt. Her face was graced with a large bruise and he'd asked her several times what had happened. But she just waved him and his worries off. Everything was all right and she'd tell him the important stuff later, she said. Exhaustion was spreading through her body too, making her wish for a little bit of silence and rest. She wasn't in the mood to talk and he couldn't blame her. Although Daniel was aware that they needed to talk about things, he was equally grateful for the break. For a few moments of time to think about their future.

In doing so, he couldn't ignore that they were still considered dangerous, in spite of everything. Stranded in a strange reality, with no real chance to work their way out of this giant mess. Just the fact that these people had, considering his injury, thrown them in a cell spoke volumes about their current status as terror suspects. At worst, they had to stay here for a long time. He detested that thought. If he was caught in another universe, then at least Daniel wanted to be able to actually do something. Or at least, to have the feeling that he could do something if he liked. But lying around listlessly, with absolutely no control over his own life didn't suit him.

"So, those Cylons. What do you think they are?" He asked, breaking the silence as it became too much for him. Sam rubbed her eyes and stood up. He had to give her that, her movements displayed almost no indication that she was slowly reaching her limits too. She plopped down beside him on the cot, not looking at him as she answered cautiously.  
"I don't know how to describe this. In any case, they are not human."  
"Do they have a solid body?"  
He knew from his own experience as an ex-ascended, that there was nothing in the vastness of the universe, which didn't exist.  
"Oh, believe me, this Cylon definitely had a solid body."  
Daniel eyed her intently, pointing at the hematoma on her face.

"Is this what happened?"  
"The situation got a little out of hand."  
Daniel's worried sigh about her downplaying the danger she'd been in didn't achieve the desired effect. She sat beside him, stubbornly, not understanding how it had felt for him. Staying behind in the infirmary. All alone. Not knowing whether she was all right or if she needed his help. But he refrained from addressing the matter now. He simply couldn't muster the strength at the moment.  
"It was no problem. We've experienced worse. You should she the other guy, though." She remarked casually. Her words were supposed to soothe or amuse him, but did neither.

Daniel pondered her comment. She was right. Considering everything that had happened today, how many people had died, they seemed to be relatively safe for now. He had no idea what was going on outside their cell, but it seemed that the Colonists had found a safe spot in space to organize the chaos that resembled the rest of their civilization. But still, no one was taking to them, no one took care of them. So, how was he supposed to know anything solid? All he could do was speculate.

In the last hour, the Galactica and its passengers had experienced another one of those damn jumps. Why and whereto, Daniel couldn't know. The ship was currently hovering quietly and weightlessly in space. No evasive action. No terrible noise from enemy bombardment. He guessed, that they were safe for now. Time to catch a breath. So yes, Sam was right somehow. They had experienced situations in which their lives were about to be extinguished and compared to that, their lives didn't seem to be in immediate danger right now. Nevertheless, this knowledge brought no comfort for the archeologist. He couldn't remember a mission whose consequences left them in such damned enforced idleness. They knew next to nothing that was useful and nothing that gave them a hint about what was happening here. Their options for suitable actions were nil and he didn't like it. It was frustrating. This feeling…his fate wasn't any longer in his own hands. And Sam? Sam seemed to see it all differently. Or at least more relaxed. It made him wonder if she failed to recognize the danger of their situation. Hell, maybe she was even secretly enjoying this. The thrill, the secretiveness, this journey into the unknown. Good friend he was, Daniel hadn't failed to notice that she wasn't overly happy about the course her life had taken lately.

"So. What are those Cylons exactly?" He continued their conversation.  
"I'm not sure. The man I saw….," _The man I killed_ -this was what she should say. But Carter hesitated from worrying Daniel further. She knew that his nerves were more than a little battered.  
"…I never doubted him being human. His bodily functions were human. He was breathing, sweating…and he didn't smell that good. And later he was sick and he suffered from injuries like any normal human being would."  
"Maybe because those Cylons are human. We've seen that many times before. Two nations that mutually despise each other. So, one fractions denies the other one humanity to dehumanize them. It makes a war justifiable." Daniel interposed. His head was working at full speed. Rummaging in the knowledge he'd amassed during his studies and work, searching for a similar case. But Sam shook her head vigorously. She wasn't satisfied with his reasoning.

"That's not how I understood it. There are these constant allusion. They call them toasters, clanker, bullethead, scrap metal and so on. It's always about artificiality, like they're not organic. Major O'Neill said that Cylons were made by humans."  
"So…does that mean they are…what? Robots? Cyborgs? Or maybe replicants?" Daniel considered, his mind anxious. This was the last thing they needed right now, replicants running loose in this universe. If that was true, they were indeed sitting in deep ship, as Jack would say now.  
"No, no replicants. I'm sure about that. The man, Loeben Conoy, he didn't act like a replicant. He was bleeding. He died. Talked about god and resurrection like he really believed. Like a real person would."  
Daniel was confused. Intuitively, he rubbed his aching leg, taking care not to touch the throbbing wound.  
"You just said that Cylons are not real humans."

He watched her concentrated expression, understanding that she was busy searching for the right words. A remnant of her early time with one grumpy and impatient Colonel O'Neill. Young Captain Carter had overused her co's nerves a lot of times with lengthy and detailed scientific explanations. At those times, when they were still struggling to build a real team, the words had gushed of her like water out of a fountain. And Jack? He'd always acted like he really longed to stuff his spare pair of socks in her mouth to stop her 'technobabble'. Instead, he used a rigorous hand gesture and a firm 'Carter!' to make her realize that he favored short, but precise, answers. Answers he could understand without using a dictionary. The two of them had played this little game almost every day for a few months, until each of them had gotten accustomed to the other's oddities. Since then, Sam was mindful of choosing words her teammates could understand instantly. She didn't always succeed. But then again, being around her had automatically increased her teammate's technological knowledge, so one could say that they really had met in the middle. Just like a real team should. He really missed those days. They'd been in trouble all of the time, but damn him, it had been fun.

"They are neither humans nor replicants. On the other hand, they are definitely a humanoide life form. But somehow they don't seem to bee…natural."  
Daniel scowled, puzzled.  
"Natural? Natural, how? In a philosophical sense, in a scientific sense, or legally?"  
"I don't know Daniel. It's confusing me too."

Any further conversation was rudely interrupted when the heavy iron door opened with a creak. Two marines were escorting a blonde woman between them to the second cell. They would have to postpone their contemplations for now. Because the woman was loud, very loud. During crossing the short distance between door and cell, she cursed and grumbled incessantly, resisting the marines with everything she had in her.

Daniel sat up on the bunk and leaned his back against the wall. He threw Sam a questioning look and she shrugged her shoulders. Apparently, she hadn't met the woman during her tour. He tried to eye the newcomer inconspicuously, but the effort wasn't needed. The young woman was so busy insulting the two uniformed men, that she was totally unaware of Daniel watching her.

The archeologist had to admit, she really was an engaging personality. But not in a positive sense. Although she was young, he estimated her in her mid-twenties, her presence immediately filled up the entire space. She wore an identical flight suit as Major O'Neill. The material hung loosely on her, but you could guess that she was slim and toned. Her blond, shoulder length hair was tied in a strict braid and gave her otherwise elegant face a gritty expression. The words that left her mouth, supported her rough-acting nature.

"Go frak youself! I'll be out quicker than you can scratch your balls!"  
She graced the two man with a brash gesture. The anthropologist in Daniel interpreted it as this universe's version of the middle finger. She followed the marines to the door with a death glare until they left the prison. She whirled around then, kicking the cot in her cell furiously out of her way.  
"Frak! Frak! Frak! Damned Tigh! I'm going to rip him a new one! That sleazy, drunken…."

She stopped her impressive barrage of insults abruptly when she realized that she wasn't alone.  
"Oh, hi guys." She greeted, her mood suddenly much to good for someone who sat in a prison cell. Almost as if was no big deal for her. Her alert eyes scanned the two strangers in front of her.  
"I've never seen you around here before." She stated, leaning casually against the bars connecting the two cells.

"We're on board for the first time." Sam explained.  
The unknown woman showed them a tense smile.  
"Wow, you sure choose the so not right moment to visit the old lady. Usually, we are much more hospitable." Her tone was humorous, yet the truth behind the words couldn't be denied. If they hadn't been caught by the GDD agents and sent to the Astral Queen, they'd probably be dead.

The young woman reached a hand through the bars, offering a greeting.  
"Name's Kara Thrace. Starbuck's okay too. That's my call sign."  
While Daniel shook hands first, Sam remembered suddenly why the woman's name was so familiar to her. Starbuck-that was the pilot who'd saved them a few hours ago.  
"We've met before. So to speak." Sam said. "We've been with Major O'Neill when his Raptor was pursued by a Cylon."

A self-satisfied smirk crept onto Thrace's face as she remembered.  
"Yep, that was me."  
She frowned, thoughtful for a few seconds, then looking suddenly exited.  
"Oh wait a minute…wait a minute. Are you the Major's prisoners?"  
She almost sounded like a little kid in a candy store and Daniel felt trapped in her pushy gaze.  
"And you, you're the guy who knocked Colonel kiss-my-ass out?"

Daniel cleared his throat uncomfortably. Colonel kiss-my-ass was probably a not so elegant euphemism for Colonel Tigh.  
"Uhm…I think so. But I didn't mean to. It was a reflex."  
Thrace nodded in agreement. "I hear ya. I've got the same reflex every time I see Tigh."  
In the style of a shadow boxer, she aimed a few quick punches at an imaginary person.  
That wasn't exactly what Daniel had meant, but at least he wasn't the only one who thought of Colonel Tigh as unlikeable.

After her little show, Starbuck rolled her eyes dreamingly.  
"Man, I would have loved to see that. I bet it felt pretty good, eh?"  
Daniel was amazed about himself, he actually had to smile about her enthusiasm. "Sort of." He finally admitted.  
Now, Sam found herself in the attention of the boisterous young woman.  
"Then you're the one who saved all our asses in the left flight pod. Thanks, by the way."  
"You're welcome." Carter retorted, instantly liking the brash pilot. Somehow, Starbuck reminded her of a younger and female version of the colonel. Sarcastically, rebellious and with a serious problem concerning authority.

Starbuck grabbed the iron bars with both hands, her probing gaze sliding over her new acquaintances.  
"You don't look like terrorists."  
Sam and Daniel both exhaled in frustration. It was going to take a lot of time and reasoning until they would get rid of this accusation.  
"We are not terrorists!" Daniel answered more furious than planned. He had no clue how many times he'd said this sentence already. It was getting old.  
Kara held up her hands innocently.  
"Hey, every enemy of Tigh is my friend. Besides, people talk about the CAG almost getting beaten to a pulp, if it hadn't been for you." She pointed at Sam and continued. "O'Neill's our boss and most of the time he's a pain in the ass. You know how bosses are. But somehow, we like him. Who else is going to buy our beer, you know?"

The young pilot talked to them in such a familiar manner, like they knew each other well. It was a tad strange, considering everything. But maybe it was just Sam and Daniel feeling strange and lost in this foreign universe. Nevertheless, it was good to meet someone who seemed to give them a fair chance. Although Daniel sensed that the young woman was a problem on two legs. There was something about her that oozed the aura of trouble. Her next words seemed to confirm his assumption.

"You know, you're actually sitting in my cell."  
Daniel raised his eyebrows, puzzled.  
"Does that mean that you're often in prison?"  
"You could say that. It's like my second home." She said, sounding amazingly proud of it. As if its was an award.

"And why are you here now?" Daniel wanted to know. How could anyone be part of a squadron, if the lack of discipline was clear to see? He didn't understand this people.  
Starbuck moved her head nonchalantly as she answered casually.  
"Oh, nothing special. Stole a Viper, made an unauthorized recon mission, found a bunch of survivors. You know, that kind of stuff."  
From everything the woman said, there was one detail that stuck out.  
"There are survivors?" Sam gasped. Even if this wasn't her reality, Sam could feel this peoples pain about the holocaust of their society. She'd had her fair share of pain herself. But survivors, that was great news. The only bright spot on this gloomy day.

Starbuck shared her joy about the news.  
"Great, right? Rumor has it we even have a new president." She sounded less enthusiastic about this fact.  
"But that's good, too. Right?" Daniel inquired and Thrace rolled her eyes.  
"We'll see. Roslin was Secretary of Education. I mean, a teacher as big boss? Good thing we still have the old man."  
"The old man?"  
"Yes, Commander Adama. He'll make the right decisions. He always does."

If they didn't know much about these people, their admiration and open respect for their Commander was evident. This Adama guy had to be a special person. That was good news too. Even though Sam and Daniel had no clue how long they had to stay in this universe, it was good to know that there was at least one leader who could be relied on.

Before Daniel and Sam were able to say something else, they were interrupted by an amused male voice.  
"Well,well…if that's not Lt. Thrace in her natural habitat? You bragging about your misadventures again?"

Major Jack O'Neill was leaning casually in the doorway, eying his pilot with a good natured smile. He received an outstretched tongue for his joke, but didn't bother. This O'Neill seemed to be a relaxed co, letting his people joke around as long as it happened in a respectfully setting.

"Hey CAG, nice to see ya! Good to know that these rumors about your survival are right. Are you here to get me out?" Starbuck pouted provocatively and blinked her eyelashes. Too provocatively, it was clear to see that she wasn't flirting with him seriously.  
O'Neill tsked and shook his head.  
"What the hell am I going to do with you, Starbuck? Tigh wants your head."  
Thrace answered with a scornful snort and a rebellious expression on her face.  
"I don't care what Tigh wants. He's just pissed a civilian floored him." While she pointed this out, she glanced admiringly at Daniel. The archeologist didn't quite know how to interpret this dubious worship.

"True, but his anger is solely directed at you. What where you thinking? Stealing a Viper? Couldn't you've at least talked to Adama? You know he likes you. He would've listened to you. "  
The young pilot crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest.  
"I would've asked my CAG, but he was busy hunting skin jobs at Ragnar Station."

Her complaint hung in the air for a few moments and O'Neill left it at that. He knew that Thrace tended to lash out when she felt cornered. He was pretty sure that she didn't mean to question his position as CAG. She was just a difficult character and it had taken him some time to gain her trust. Jack had no interest in losing it with responding like a thin-skinned fusspot.

"Then you'll be happy to hear that I fulfilled my duty as your CAG and made a deal for you."  
She wrinkled her brows skeptically.  
"What kind of deal?"  
"Well, you know we've got a new president and since she determined her Starliner as seat of government, she'll need a taxi for further meetings with Commander Adama. And guess who'll have the honor of chauffeuring her back and forth?" The question was meant sarcastically and when Starbuck realized the consequences, her mouth almost fell off with unwillingness. She was so not thrilled with the outcome of her deal.

"Oh, no! Come on CAG! That's cruel. I'm no babysitter."  
"Yes you are." He answered firmly, some authority shining through his posture. Just enough to make her understand that this was the best –the only- deal she'd get. "You are going to do just that. And you won't be a bitch about it. You'll behave like a good girl until Tigh finds another victim for his foul mood. I can't effort to lose one of my best pilots all of the time because she can't control her temper."  
Apparently, she started to gradually understand that she'd have to suffer some kind of punishment for her actions.  
"Well, I guess it's better that nothing." She sulked.  
"See, I know you had it in you." Praised O'Neill cynically. Sometimes he felt more like her big brother than her boss.  
"What?" she demanded to know.  
Jack grinned knowingly. "Beeing reasonable."

Starbuck replied to that with a minimalistic grimace and threw her hands up in the air angrily.  
"Well, can I go now?" She sounded pissed off.  
"Yeah, sure. If you promise to stay away from trouble, and that means Tigh, for some time." His words weren't meant as a question , more like a strict warning.  
Kara's brows shot up. She had to think about that seriously.  
"Do it for my heart. You know I'm like a hundred years old. I need my Starbuck-trouble free time."  
That seemed to convince her at last.  
"I guess…I could try that."  
"Thanks a bunch."

Major O'Neill keyed in a number code, opening the cell door, and Starbuck swaggered out like a winner. Before she left the prison, she turned around to her new acquaintances, who had observed the exchange between CAG and pilot with interest.  
"See you around, guys."

Once the door closed behind her, O'Neill exhaled in relief. He stared after her for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. Daniel and Sam gave him the time, hoping that he was here to get them out too. Jackson had no desire to stay here much longer. He wanted to get out, start looking for a way back to their planet, their reality. Home. But they had to find a Stargate first and considering how the GDD agent on Caprica had reacted to their story about gatetravel, theses people knew next to nothing about the Stargates. At least nothing about the original workings of the gate. They had a Stargate in their museum, but didn't seem to know what to do with it. So, before they could leave this universe, they had to do some investigating. But their hands were tied if they were stuck in a cell.

"Wow, she's a handful." Daniel remarked, without having thought about the possible effect of his words. He was just looking for a way to start a conversation with this O'Neill. The Major whirled around instantly, something vehement in his eyes.  
"She is. But she's worth it."

He seemed to have understood Daniel's comment as criticism and promptly started to defend his pilot. That was interesting and could work to their favor. They could see more and more of the General in Major O'Neill. He held a high military rank and a leading position among the crew. Was respected and trusted, his opinion counted for something. He was an excellent pilot. Took over responsibility. Worked well in stressful situation. Trusted his instincts more than questionable facts. Didn't accept any authority figure, because his respect had to be earned. Used sarcasm and cynicism like a well functioning tool. And he stood firmly behind his people, tolerating neither doubt nor open criticism of them. Sam was almost certain that he'd give Starbuck hell about ignoring orders in such a dangerous and incalculable situation. But not in front of others. He preferred to do such things in private.

"Sorry, we didn't want to criticize." Sam quickly apologized, registering Daniel's irritated expression. She looked back at him, trying to convey him in silence that they wouldn't get very far with open resistance. For all they knew, these people weren't their enemies. There was no need for barely concealed irritation.

Major O'Neill didn't react to her apology. Instead, he pulled up an uncomfortable looking chair. There was a screeching sound as the metal legs scratched across the floor. He sat down on the chair backwards, laying his arms on the backrest and resting his head on his bicep. His dark eyes stared at them openly.

"So, now to you two."  
Daniel and Sam intuitively moved closer together on the cot.  
"How's the cheek?" he pointed to her swollen jaw and Sam put it off with a wave of her hand.  
"I'll survive." She replied, nodding towards the bluish marks on his neck. "And how's the neck?"  
"I'll survive it, too." He retorted with her own answer, ginning slightly.  
Daniel noticed their easy camaraderie and instantly felt left out. He interrupted them staring at each other quite rudely with the need to remind them that he was present too.  
"Oh yes, I'm all good too. Thanks for asking." He was wondering about his feisty tone. That wasn't really his style. But he was way too tired to waste any energy on being more friendly.  
While Sam had the decency to duck her head apologetically, Major O'Neill wasn't all too impressed. He leaned back in the chair, watching the silent exchange between the two friends with growing interest.

"What happens to us now?" Sam finally asked the question that was on her mind.  
O'Neill scratched his colorful neck profusely, then shrugged.  
"We discussed that." He offered, but the other two weren't able to do something with it.  
"Who is we?" Daniel wanted to know, trying to ignore the pain in his leg.  
"Commander Adama and President Roslin, of course."

"Oh, that's good…right?" The archeologist was somewhat surprised that the highest military and civilian leader were discussing something so marginal as two terror suspects. After all, they'd just survived a holocaust. He would've assumed that they had more urgent problems to solve. Daniel wasn't sure if it was good or bad, that their fate –in sprite of everything- was still high on their priority list.

O'Neill cocked his head.  
"I'd say so. You can go." He said without emotion.  
"Really? Just like that?"  
Sam and Daniel exchanged surprised looks. They'd never expected that. After all, almost everyone they had met so far seemed to be convinced that they were some kind of evil killing machines. Why let them go now? In this critical situation? The Major nodded briefly, pointing a warning finger at them.  
"There's just one little thing to take care of. You know, this terrorist suspicion against you."  
"We know it's a problem. But like I told you before, we didn't do anything wrong. We aren't terrorists. But we don't know how to prove it. We've got no evidence." Sam complained exhaustedly, running her hands through her short hair. She really needed a shower.

"You said it. There's no evidence to proof your innocence, but there's also nothing that proves you're indeed guilty. And you know colonial law, no evidence, no charge and trial. So, the accusations are dropped."  
He paused for a moment, giving them the time to understand the consequences of this new development. "Nevertheless, we can't allow you to move freely on the ship."  
He looked at them intently, then continued. "You'll move into a VIP quarter and you are allowed to move freely on your deck. But if you want to go somewhere else, the infirmary or the mess hall, you need an escort. I can imagine it's not ideal for you and it's nothing personal. But everyone's a little bit overcautious and nervous. So, that's the best and only offer. Either you accept, or you stay here."

Sam and Daniel didn't need to think long about it. Certainly, they were under observation. It was like a house arrest, telling them that even though the colonialists had dropped charges against them, they weren't completely convinced of their innocence. It was just their law that forced them to set Daniel and Sam free, like a second class acquittal. But at least, they wouldn't have to live behind bars and would have a minimum of privacy. And the best thing, they could stay together. It was horror to think about the prospect of being split up here or on board of this prison ship.  
"We take the deal." Confirmed Sam and Daniel added a "Definitely."

O'Neill braced his hands on his thighs.  
"That's good. There's just one more thing. Something that's between the three of us."  
In an instant, their minds turned from happy about the recent development to cautious. The other man sounded almost conspiratorial. Like they shared a secret with him.  
"O-kay." Confused Daniel animated Major O'Neill to keep talking.  
The CAG leaned his upper body over the backrest, closing some of the distance between him and the two prisoners.

"I had to vouch for you." He declared offhandedly and concentrated on observing their reactions to that. Jackson and Carter tried not to show how much this astonished them. They weren't sure yet if it was safe to be relieved about it, too. Because it could mean that he was beginning to trust them. Or at least he wasn't convinced anymore that they were indeed terrorists. Daniel glanced at Sam, wondering even more what happened at Ragnar Station that could have triggered this somewhat last minute change of mind. Both, Sam and the Major, looked quite beaten up. He was sure that there had been some kind of confrontation. Sam must've done something to win the trust of an otherwise distrustful Jack O'Neill.

"That means, if you screw things up, I have to face the old man's anger. And I'm not really keen on that. That's why I want you to be honest. What did you do at the museum? Why did the GDD think you were terrorists?"  
The question was left unanswered for some time. It was an important question and Jack registered that Carter and Jackson didn't dare to look at him. Instead they were focusing on each other, silently conferring.

Sam and Daniel were busy thinking about what to answer. They had told the truth once before, to Agent Forster at Caprica. And he'd laughed them in the face. They had told them the truth about the Stargate and Earth and he'd still send them to death penalty. There was no guarantee that O'Neill would react different. But, how else could they explain their presence in the museum?

Daniel slid his hand carefully across the cot, pinching Sam's tight and giving her the hint to take over. He suspected that she and the Major were already beginning to form some sort of camaraderie. He'd leave it up to her to decide what to tell this O'Neill.

She breathed in, understanding Daniel's hesitation and choose the truth. Sam had never lied to the General, why start now?  
"That will probably sound a little crazy." She warned the man on the other side of the cell door.  
"Oh, you mean even crazier that this day has already been?" He took he warning with sarcasm.  
Carter smiled briefly before she continued.

"Are you familiar with the Hugh-Everett many-worlds interpretation of quantum physics?"  
O'Neill's eyebrows shot up. "Can't say I am."  
"It's really fascinating. It's an illustration of the separation of an universe, based on two overlapped and entangled quantum mechanically states."  
She spoke the last words with an accented syllable, transforming her sentence into a question whether the Major was understanding what she was getting at. His blank expression, however, told her that he had no ideal what she was talking about.

"In any case, this theory was the beginning of considering the possibility of parallel realities. We know that there's no such thing as an all-encompassing world formula and no definite solution of the string theory. Every imaginable solution could theoretically apply to any possible universe. You understand? Parallel universes. There is more than just one reality. More than just your universe and our universe."

The Major grimaced and massaged his temples. His right hand moving tiredly and describing a rotating motion.  
"Could you fast forward to the part I can actually understand? My mind's not that receptive anymore."  
"Oh, okay." Sam wondered how she could explain it to him short and crisp. Inspired and motivated by the fact that, so far, he hadn't rejected openly anything she'd said.

"The truth is, Daniel and I, we come from a different reality. We are researchers from another universe. That's our job. We travel to other planets via something that's called a Stargate. It can form stable wormholes and we think that we landed in this reality because of a malfunction. This is what happened. We're no danger to you, we are just looking for a way back home."

Tensely, Sam waited for a response. But O'Neill stayed quiet. His face not betraying what the thought. He had placed his forehead on his arms and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he let the air escape with a big sigh.  
"I told you it sounds crazy, but.." Sam started again, but was stopped by his raised hand.

O'Neill eyed them intensely and they noticed for the first time how exhausted he looked.  
"Guys, I'm really trying to help you." He sounded patient, but there was also a certain petulance in his voice.  
"We know. But you wanted the truth. That's it." Insisted Daniel on their version of things.

The Major stood up abruptly, his movement causing the chair to topple over with a metallic clank. He turned away from them, hands clasped behind his neck. Daniel and Sam didn't know how to interpret his tense posture, but when he reached for the door, they knew they had to do something to hold him back. This was a critical moment. Sam had the certain feeling, that if he left now, he wouldn't come back again. And she didn't want that.

Sam jumped up from the cot, throwing herself against the bars. He didn't believe them. Probably thought she was pulling his leg. Disappointment and frustration spread through her. She had really hoped he would believe them and understand. "Please! I swear, it's the truth. I understand if you can't believe it. I know it sounds crazy. But it's the only thing I can say. I won't lie to you."

O'Neill stopped dead in his tracks. Just a second ago he was ready to take back his vouch. Damn them, if they didn't want his help. But the vehemence in the woman's words took him by surprise. He didn't believe this stuff about some kind of gate and travelling via wormholes. Like he'd told President Roslin, he wasn't into science fiction. But he was also sure that they weren't dangerous terrorists. Carter and Jackson must've been caught in this mess accidently. Which was kinda like a blessing for them, because otherwise they'd probably be dead by now. Just like the rest of the Colonies. He just wondered what their secret was. What could possibly be so awkward or embarrassing, that Carter preferred to dish up such a ridiculous story?

Then he suddenly remembered the way he'd found the two friends sitting in the cell. Huddled close together on their cot. How they'd been nabbed together at the museum and how frightened Carter had been for her friends health. And suddenly, it dawned on him. Yes, yes…that was quite possible. He'd heard that story before. The Delphi Museum was known for that kind of stuff. More precisely, the museum's basement. Now and then, newlyweds, lovebirds or overall thrill seekers felt the need for some activity in one of the old Cylon ships from the first war that was exhibited down there. Jack just wondered why they were reluctant to admit that they had been caught in the closed museum with their pants down, so to speak. Although, personally, he felt that they were a little too old to be doing that. It was more something for teenagers and young people. But in general, there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Free people, free love. Jack had no problem with that slogan.

Feeling sure about his assumption, he turned around again. Quickly crossing the room and picking up the chair on his way. He ran fingers through his already wild hair and looked them up and down. Noticed how Carter had resumed her place beside Jackson, quietly telling him that whatever happened, they were in this together. Yep, he had to be right about his hunch. So, no immanent danger coming from them. Probably. Just two people who were to buttoned up to amid that they had been caught having sex in the closed museum. It wasn't a felony, but still an infringement. Nevertheless, it stung a bit that Carter tried to feed him that bullshit. She must think that he was one of the dumbest people around.

"Okay." He breathed finally, hating himself for the tiny little bit of disappointment that was shining through.  
"Okay?" Sam repeated questioningly.  
"Yeah, I understand."  
If possible, Carter seemed to be even more stunned. She hadn't expected this. She'd counted on anger, resentment or indifference. Not understanding. By the way, what exactly did he understand? She was quite sure that it wasn't what she'd tried to explain to him.  
"Oh, thanks. I guess."  
"Yeah. I mean, we all have stuff we don't want to talk about." His explanation sounded harmless, but it still felt like he was building up some sort of wall between them. His words highlighting that they were foreign to each other. There was no sense in declining the limits and hurdles between them. The fact that he had vouched for them was a good start, but nothing more. Certainly no real friendship with solid trust.

O'Neill was serious again, all playfulness had left his expression. "There's just one thing I have to know. Are you a danger to this ship and crew? Because if you're lying to me about that too, I can make life very unpleasant for you."  
Sam looked him straight in the eyes, wanting to transport the message that she wasn't lying. And that she wouldn't accept him threatening them. No matter how irritated he might feel about this whole mess between the three of them.  
"No. We'd never to something deliberate to endanger this ship and crew."  
The CAG held her gaze for a moment. If felt like he was trying to see into her head. To fathom whether she had any ulterior motives. And somehow she believed that he actually could.

At last, he exhaled calmly. "Good." He said simply, opening their cell door with a number code.  
While Sam helped Daniel standing up, the Major knocked at the prison door three times. The two guards who'd taken care of Starbuck entered again, eying them seriously. You could see that they weren't overly happy about the two strangers being out of the cell.

O'Neill shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded toward the two men. "Those guys will take you to your quarter. I'll see that you get a few things. New clothes and some hygiene items. It's not much, but better than nothing."

Sam and Daniel stood opposite him, wondering what to say and how to act around him. One could see that he was still frustrated about them not telling the truth, in his opinion. But as Sam had told him, she wasn't willing to tell him some cover story to make him feel better. If they wanted his help, he would need to understand what had happened to them. Even if it took him some time.  
Finally, she turned her face away. The two marines were waiting outside for them. They'd just covered a few steps, when O'Neill said something else.

"By the way, there'll be some memorial ceremony in a few hours. Nothing big, just something to say goodbye."  
The two friends turned around in surprise, his conciliatory and heart felt invitation unexpected.  
He simply shrugged. "We all lost someone today."  
That was true. These people weren't the only ones lost in space, they were too. Carter and Daniel exchanged glances.  
"We'd like to come."  
"Okay, your guards will take you. Try to get some sleep in the mean time. You'll need it."

 _We all need it, and more-_ Sam added in through as she left with Daniel for their quarter, escorted by the guards. She didn't look back, but heard as the Major left the prison and walked in the opposite direction. His steps were heavy and lacked the usual vigor. She hoped that he would get it back soon.


	15. Chapter 15

So, here it is, the last chapter of this story. I tried to write an atmospheric chapter with two functions: Firstly as an conclusion to this story and secondly, to mark the beginning of something new. The characters need to say goodbye to their old life and start a new one. Hope you like, hope you review.

By the way, Adamas following words are directly taken out of the show. I couldn't possibly have written it better than that!

* * *

Chapter 15: So say we all

Their so-called VIP quarter had nothing in common with it's name. It was a small, meager furnished room. Suitable for one person, or maybe two if you really squashed in together. One desk, one chair, one closet and one sink. No windows, just bare and gray walls. It was like being stuck in a submarine. Much to Daniel's regret, there wasn't even a bathroom. It dawned to him that he'd have to use the communal showers and toilets on the deck, always accompanied by one of their grim guards.

At least they had received their new stuff. For each of them the exactly same set. A gray tracksuit, three BDU pants, three black t-shirts, three black muscle shirts, two sweaters, one jacket and fortunately enough underwear. Everything seemed to be part of the crew's normal day to day work clothes, sans the insignia. The toiletries consisted of two towels, a shampoo suitably for washing body and hair, toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush and a piece of greenish curd soap smelling like machine oil. Sam had also received a generous load of special feminine hygiene products. The box was clearly a maxi pack and although they'd seen each other naked a few times, she hastened to tuck the box away in her part of the small cabinet. A red face betraying the fact that she felt embarrassment about it. Not that this part of the female anatomy was foreign to Daniel. After all, he'd been a married man. But he left Sam her privacy. He did wonder, however, if she was ashamed because he'd seen the tampons, or because she suspected that Major O'Neill had hand picket it himself.

Their basic equipment included an additional simple cot, too. Due to his injury, they had agreed that Daniel would take the more comfortable bed until his wound was healed. Then they would take turns with the hard cot, assuming that they were still stuck in this universe by the time his leg was fit again. The plain design of the quarter was completed with the total absence of a computer or a workable access to some kind of network. Also, no books, no pictures, nothing to pass the time. Just a big, clunky monster of something that looked like a phone from the last century. Major O'Neill had clearly been telling the truth when the explained to them that Galactica was about to be taken out of service prior to the attacks. Looking around in their new home, Daniel sincerely hoped that they weren't forced to spend all their time here. And if they had to, it wouldn't take the workaholic in him long to go crazy. His mind needed space, literally.

But in all fairness he had to admit that these people were at least thinking about the basics, considering the food that had accompanied their new clothes. It was nothing special, but still a much welcomed snack. Two slices of bread for each of them. Garnished with something that tasted like goat cheese. And two big plastic bottles with lukewarm water.

Sam and he only realized how hungry they were until they were in the middle of wolfing down their little snacks. After that, it was almost heavenly to be able to dress in clean clothes. His pants were still smeared with crusted blood and Sam's clothes were decorated with a mysterious smelling mixture of chemical extinguishing powder, sweat and soot. Quite the gentleman, Jackson had turned away and waited while Sam changed clothes. He himself had been able to change into a new shirt, but when it came to the pants he needed her help. It was hard and painful for him to move his leg or even bent his knee. When they finally, with joined efforts, got him into his new pants, it was time for Daniel to take his first dose of the painkillers and he was thankful that the effect was quick.

They settled in their, hopefully, temporary new home without exchanging many words. After everything that had happened, the rest was too enticing. Afterwards, they were both dozing on their respective beds. But all too soon a forceful knocking on the door announced the arrival of their guards. It was time to go to the ceremony.

Sam helped Daniel to his feed and handed him the pair of crutches that one of the guards had brought with him. Probably again Major O'Neill's doing. Slowly, they followed their guards through the oppressive corridors and to where the ceremony was held, a largo cargo area two decks below their accommodation.

Thank god there was a freight elevator, Daniel was positive he would've never made it down the steep ladders that connected the different decks by himself. They entered the spacious hall with some of the last late arrivals and found their places at the back. There were no seats, so Sam's supporting arm around his shoulders was a welcome support for his still weakened body.

The hall was filled to the brim. Most of the attendants in uniform. Just a few scattered civilians wearing their own clothes. They were keeping in the background, not mingling with the soldiers and officers. Daniel let his gaze wander. Some soldiers were standing at attention, with stoic countenance staring at the wall in front of them. But more of them were injured. Some had tears in their eyes. Others hid their sadness in a grotesque grimace of stubbornness. They looked like a reflection of the rest of their civilization. Shattered, scattered, desperate and broken, but still willfully clinging to their lives.

The atmosphere was dominated by a strange silence. No clear or loud words were spoken, the undertone was more of a muttered whisper than a real conversation. The front rows housed the officers. All of them looking very important in their blue uniforms. Spiffed up with their golden and shiny medals. Before them stood a speaker's desk. The wall behind was draped with 12 different colored flags. Each of them representing one of the colonies. Another, smaller, flag enthroned at the center, right behind the lectern. It displayed some kind of stylized bird, woven in golden cord on a black background. The animal had elongated, curved wings and reminded Daniel of a phoenix.

A red carped led the way from the entrance to the speaker's desk. To the right and the left, in front of the officers, stood small altar like tables, each of them carrying an aviator helmet. Some of them sill looked quite okay. Others featured scorch marks and damages. One helmet's visor was completely broken. But the depressing atmosphere was mostly ensured by the motionless bodies laying right before of the officers. Wrapped in the flags of their respective colonies, the dead seemed to be waiting patiently for the time to say their last goodbyes to their friends and colleagues. The scene was touching and eerie at the same time.

He could detect Major O'Neill up front. He stood in the middle of his pilots, displaying the spitting image of a stoic leader. His uniform was clean and wrinkle free. Hands clasped behind his back. Looking straight ahead. But the reason why they were here had to leave its mark on him as well, even if he wasn't showing it openly. After all, they weren't just mourning their dead comrades, but also an entire civilization. Their home, friends, culture…simply everything. Daniel suspected, that O'Neill wanted to maintain the control over his feelings in front of his people. If this Jack was just a bit like the Jack that had been his best friend, the man wouldn't give even a hint about the grief and sorrow he had to be feeling on the inside. But later, when he was alone, he would allow himself a brief moment of pain. And afterwards, well….life had to go on and the Major would lead by example . After all, the Jack O'Neill he knew was the perfect example for the well known saying: If you fall down, stand up and try again.

He was flanked by Starbuck to his left and a smaller young, muscular man to his right. If Daniel remembered military protocol for such occasions correctly, Kara Thrace and the young man must have an important position in their squadron, which was why they were standing right next to their CAG.

He could see Colonel Tigh too. He was the only one with his back to the dead, standing on the red carpet and watching the front door. When he suddenly tensed, his grim expression immediately silences all whispers and whimpers.  
"Attention on deck!" shouted the almost bald Colonel and stood on attention. The other military personnel present followed his example and the sound of their collectively clacking shoe soles was cutting through the oppressive silence like a whiplash.

The clump of mourners split up in two halves, creating a path in the middle for Commander Adama. He was accompanied by two very different women. One had an aristocratic aura. She had to be in her mid fifties, with some fine wrinkles gracing her otherwise flawless face. She wore a dark pantsuit and nodded respectfully at the people in passing. The other woman had black skin and wore a golden robe. She carried in her hands an equally golden scroll. A bit like the Jewish Torah.

While Adama and the first woman remained standing in the first row, the other woman strode elegantly to the podium. She carefully spread out the scroll and let her gentle eyes wander trough the entire room. Daniel could feel his thirst for cultural knowledge become alive again. For the first time since the Gate had spit him out in this universe. He suspected that Sam and he would be soon witnesses of a religious or spiritual ceremony. Daniel reminded himself to try to memorize and understand as much as possible. You could learn a lot about the culture of a civilization by watching how they treated their dead.

The woman in the robe ran her hands lovingly over the lines of the scroll. She began to gently sway back and forth. When she opened her mouth, the sounds of faint whispering filled the hall. Gradually, her sounds became louder and the archeologist, slash anthropologist, slash linguist noticed that many of the present mirrored her movements. The murmuring of the women, Daniel would call her a priestess in his mind, now evolved into some kind of singing. Only that he couldn't detect a particular melody. Rather, it seemed that she let her feelings determine the flow of her voice.

„Asato mā sad gamaya. Tamaso mā jyotir gamaya. Mṛtyor mā amṛtaṃ gamaya."  
She repeated those words over and over again. It was like a chant, a singing that could heal. A mediation, an oath.

Surprised, Daniel furrowed his brows when he recognized that the strange words made sense to him. The more he heard, the more similarities he could identify with languages of earth. He felt someone tugging at his sleeve and met Sam's puzzled eyes.  
"What is it?" She whispered to him.  
"I think I can translate this."  
Her eyes widened. "Really. What does it say?"  
He focused once more on the chant, making sure that he canalized the best translation possible.  
"Lead us from falsehood to truth. Lead us from darkness to light. Lead us from death to immortality."

Sam bit her lips irritated. He knew exactly what she was thinking now. It surprised him too that he was able to offer such an accurate, and above all, coherent and reasonable sounding translation. But actually it wasn't that illogical as one would might think. They already knew that the many possible realities were very much alike. So, why shouldn't different, but similar, universes develop related languages?

While he pondered this, the priestess stopped singing. She rolled the scroll back together, but left it laying on the desk. When she spoke again, she did it with the same irregular rhythm with whom she'd already sung. For Daniel, the melody sounded messed up. But her voice was clear and strong. As if she had drawn a plethora of strength from her earlier prayer. Plus, her eyes never stood still. As if she possessed the skill to look at everyone at the same time.

"With heavy hearts, we lift up their bodies to you, oh Lords of Kobol, in the knowledge that you will take from them their burdens and give them life eternal."

She made a small pause and Daniel took the opportunity to note two things in his mind. First, these people probably believed in more than one deity or spiritual leader, and secondly, that they believed in some kind of afterlife.

„We also pray that you look down upon us now, with mercy and with love, just as you did upon our forefathers many years ago. Just as you led us from Kobol and found the twelve worlds, so now we hope and pray that you will lead us to a new home where we may begin life anew. So say we all."

The mourners repeated the priestess's words hesitant and uncertain. A murmur of exhausted voices dripping with fragility.  
„So say we all."  
It had to be the usual way to end a prayer, like the christian amen.

Suddenly, Commander Adama stepped out from the front row. Astonished and somehow challenging, he stared at the line of officers in front of him. The took two steps backwards until he was standing right in the middle of the room. The dead and the priestess behind him, and part of his crew before him. His features were stern and determined.

"So say we all." He said, voice powerful and unyielding.

The grievers repeated. This time a tad louder, but still uncertain. "So say we all."

But Adama wasn't satisfied. If it was even possible, he seemed to grow taller. He stood there like a statue. Unshakable, relentless and steadfast.  
"So say we all!" He called again, getting louder with every word.

The voices of the mourners was now enriched with anger, stubbornness and defiance as they yelled the words. "So say we all!"

The Commander strode from right to left in front of his people, passing every single one of them. Then he walked past the dead, stopping in the middle and staring at them, shook his head regretfully, but turning his attention back to the living.

"Are they the lucky ones?" He barked into the room, making his words sound like a rebuke.

His question hit a sore spot among the mourners. There were many of them who avoided his gaze, shame shining in their eyes. No one dared to interrupt Adama as he walked slowly past his dead comrades. Like he was silently saying each of them a farewell.

"That's what you're thinking, isn't it?" Again he paused his speech, heavy with meaning. A slight accusation resonating from the walls surrounding them.

"We're a long way from home. We've jumped way beyond the red line, into unchartered space. Limited supplies, limited fuel…..No allies, and now, no hope? Maybe it would have been better for us to have died quickly, back on the Colonies with our families, instead of dying out here, slowly, in the emptiness of dark space." If he was trying to give them a pep talk, he was definitely choosing the wrong words. Nevertheless, every sentence sounded like a challenge as he verbalized the depressed thoughts everyone of them was harboring anyway.

He passed the priestess, following the red carpet until he stood right at the spot where he'd begun his speech.  
"Where shall we go? What shall we do? Life here began out here. Those are the first words of the sacred scrolls, and they were told to us by the Lords of Kobol, many countless centuries ago. And they made it perfectly clear that we are not alone in this universe. Priest Elosha, there's a thirteenth colony of humankind, is there not?"

The priestess, Elosha, nodded nobly like she knew exactly what the Commander was getting at. But she seemed to be the only one with this understanding. Daniel looked around, seeing many blank faces with question marks in their eyes.

"Yes, yes there is. The scrolls tell us of a thirteenth tribe that left Kobol in the early days. They travelled far and made their home upon a planet called Earth, which circled a distant and unknown star."

Sam and Daniel both reacted with a startled breath. They would have expected everything, but not this. Not after GDD agent Forster had called them idiots when they had told him about Earth. On the other hand, they knew for sure that the 12 colonies didn't include Earth. Judging from Commander Adamas words, it seemed that these people, the colonists, came from earth. Or, at least, they believed that their ancestors came form Earth. But, where had their journey started? Where was this thirteenth tribe now? Still on their Earth? If yes, why didn't knew anything about this tribe's fate? And where was this Earth they were talking about located? More importantly, how did it happen that they managed to populate 12 other planets, when they apparently longed for this Earth?

"It's not unknown. I know where it is!" Commander Adama dished up the next surprise, his body vividly trembling with emotion as he tried to give his crew some hope and confidence.

"Earth." He spoke. "The most guarded secret we have. The location was only known by the senior commanders of the fleet, and we dare not share it with the public. Not while there was a Cylon threat upon us. But now, we have a refuge to go to. A refuge the Cylons know nothing about. It won't be an easy journey." Right after he gave hope to his people, Adama immediately prepared them for oncoming pain, effort and sacrifice.

"It'll be a long and arduous way. But I promise you one thing: on the memory of those lying here before you, we shall find it, and Earth shall become our new home. So say we all!"

The rest of Daniel's thoughts were lost in the shouts and cries of those with him in the hall. It seemed that all of their grief and brokenness had vanished into thin air. Instead, they threw their clenched fists up in the air. Acted like they were ready to throw themselves courageously and without regard to their own lives in every fight. Willing to do anything and everything to reach this mysterious planet.

"So say we all!" They hollered with all the confidence and strength they could muster. "So say we all! So say we all! So say we all!" The crowd began to chant over and over again.  
Like a prayer, a mantra and Daniel understood that he'd made a mistake. These words were more that the amen in the church. It didn't only mark the end of a prayer. For these people, it seemed to be almost like a magic formula. These four words described everything that lay behind him, all that they were now and everything they would have to endure and suffer from until they could be what they longed to be. It was about the past, present and future. It expressed the essence of their being.

Only the raised hand of Commander Adama could calm the crowd.  
"So say we all." He said for the last time. This time quiet but full of strength.  
"So say we all." Repeated the priestess Elosha.

Adama gave each of them a last hard look, then he nodded, deeply satisfied with the determination he could see in his people's eyes and ended the ceremony with a "Dismissed!"

No sooner than he'd said this, the crewmembers were in each other's arm. They cheered and raised their hands triumphantly in the air. Clapping shoulders. To outsiders, this might seem strange. But considering the stress and inner turmoil these people had endured with losing everyone and everything they knew and loved, this was probably the first time that they dared to feel some happiness about the fact that they were still alive and together. In spite of everything.

But there were other reactions, too. Up front Daniel could see how Starbuck grabbed her commander's hand deeply touched. Major O'Neill and the young man looked at each other questioningly. And the dark-haired woman in the suit looked anything but overly enthusiastic.

Daniel and Sam had no time to think about the possible reasons for the different responses to the Commander's speech. They found themselves in the midst of a crowd of people wanting to leave the cargo area and had no other option but to go with the flow. At first they could still see the dark clothes of their guard, but then other bodies pushed into their field of vision and they lost sight of the armored man.

"Wow, that was…interesting." Daniel concluded as they had found themselves a quiet spot in one of the corridors some time later. Sam blew a strand of hair out of her face.  
"You can say that again. I mean…earth!"  
"I know." Agreed Daniel. "At first I thought I misheard, especially after this agent said we were crazy."  
Carter ducked her head thoughtfully. "There are so many questions in my head, I don't know where to begin."  
"I feel the same way. This is all so confusing. And here I thought our previous encounters with parallel universes were strange. But this here tops it all."  
"We have a lot to investigate."  
"Absolutely. We should start as soon as possible. If they let us." Daniel agreed, then yawned and looked questioningly around the corridor.

"Say, do you know the way to our room?"  
Sam copied his look, but by far not as disoriented as he was. She gestured with her thumb to the right.  
"That way."  
"Why do you always know your way around ships?"  
"It's a gift." She offered as an explanation and together they made their way to their deck before someone could find them. After all, they were under house arrest. They didn't want to get Major O'Neill into trouble because they had lost their guard.

Together, they traversed through the long, gray corridors. They met some crewmembers on their way, but none of them seemed to be bothered about their presence. Sam was pretty sure that the freight elevator was behind the next turn. From there, they'd take the lift up to their deck. Then they had to go left and twice right and they'd be standing in front of their room.

But when they did turn right, they didn't see the elevators, but another corridor. And there was something wrong with this floor. Daniel didn't notice it at first because due to his need to use crutches, he was bending lightly forward and staring at the floor as not to stumble over something. But Sam saw it very well and held her breath when she realized what she was looking at.

Seized with sadness, she stopped and couldn't turn her eyes away from the view. The walls of the long corridor were plastered over and over with photos. There were hardly any empty spots left. She saw colorful snapshots of better times. Family picnics. A little boy happily walking with his dog. A pair of lovers staring totally engrossed in each others eyes and not noticing that they were photographed. A young woman wearing a dark blue robe and standing behind a speaker's desk. A graduation ceremony? A group of men with beer mugs standing in a sports stadium. A bunch of pilots, fully equipped. They had their arms around each other, proudly posing into the camera. At the bottom someone had scribbled "Helo, we miss you".  
Such small sayings and wishes could be found on many of the photos. Too often, they were words of farewell.

Sam kept staring, her eyes watering. There had to be thousands of pictures. All of them victims of the disastrous day. People who had died. Or worse, that were still missing. Leaving their relatives and friends back in that damned stadium between hope and fear. Wishing for them being alive, but never knowing exactly. All those people and no one of them would ever come back to their loved ones.  
Carter wiped some tears from her eyes. The ceremony hadn't touched her, but this mass of pictures….of memories, forced her own feelings to emerge again, urging Sam to deal with her own loss.

Sure, this wasn't her universe. Not her war, not her world and not her own loss. She had known no one of those people of whom nothing else was left but this pictures. Yet, she was no different from the people here. The emotions were similar, if not identical. More salty tears threatened to stream down her face. Daniel and she, they'd lost their world too. Their home, their friends and family. None of their friends would ever know what happened to them if they couldn't go back. It was quite possible that they would never find a way back home. They too, had lost everything and everyone.

She felt Daniel's hand on her shoulder and when she looked at his face, she could she the same amount of pain in his eyes. Sam allowed herself a short moment of shared sadness, but then wiped her cheeks angrily.  
Carter's don't cry. They fight, they win or they lose - She heard the stern voice of Jacob Carter calling to her.

"We should go back to our room before someone notices we're missing." She said, desperately trying to maintain a firm voice, but failing miserably. Daniel held her back when she took a first step away.  
"Wait." He breathed and started rummaging through his pants pocket. He held up a folded piece of paper in his hand and eyed Sam, as if he wasn't sure If he should show her. Finally, he held the paper between his index and middle finger, offering it to her. When she accepted it, she felt that it wasn't simply some paper, but a photo. It was folded and some of the paint was already peeling off at the kink folds. A clear sign that someone had folded and unfolded it uncountable times.

When Sam realized what photo it was, she felt her tears falling freely. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop the grief. It was the last picture of the original SG-1 team members. Everyone of them was there. Daniel, Teal'c, General O'Neill and she herself. Sam remembered the when and why as if it had been yesterday. They'd made the photo right after General O'Neill had taken over General Hammonds office and after Carter had been made new head of SG-1. Although they were all grinning like crazy, the reason for the picture had been this strange melancholy they'd felt that day. Ironically, it had been Teal'c insisting to make one last team photo.

Smiling, the four of them hand taken position on the ramp in front of the Stargate. Walter had been so kind to make the photo and Sam felt the pain and loss overwhelming her. Teal'c, Hammond, Cassie, Siler and all the others were so damned far away that they might as well be dead for them. They might have lost all of them forever, just like the many happy faces smiling upon them from the countless photos.

Daniel must've have the same thoughts. Wordlessly, he took the picture back and –after some pondering- fixed it at the wall between that of a woman who held a bouquet of flowers in her hand and a man who was lying in a swimsuit on a pool deck. Their picture, the last remnant of SG-1, was almost lost among the other images and the thought made her infinitely sad.

Daniel patted her shoulders reassuringly and she smiled bittersweet. At least, they still had each other. They were friends doing what friends were supposed to do, supporting each other. Being strong for each other. Just like Daniel was doing now, when he noticed that she couldn't break free from the photo. Gently, he let her away and down the corridor.

He was right, they had to get to know everything about this universe. But first, they had to mourn. It this aspect, they were all equal on this ship and that was at least some consolation.

It was late, after midnight, when Commander Adama had the chance to eat a very belated dinner. His body fell tiredly on the comfortable couch in his quarters. Only now, as he inhaled the scent of the bowl of steaming pasta on the table, did he realize how hungry he was.

It had been a damned long day. The longest of his life. Even longer that the day he'd been forced to bury one of his sons. But he didn't want to think about this period of his life now. He'd never been a man who lived in the past. Maybe because he'd already made so many mistakes that it was hurtful to be reminded of the consequences. One of those consequences was now sleeping in his bunk in the crew quarters. Lee. His son. Hopefully, at least one Adama found some sleep. Lee would need it. The path that lay before them was uncertain and many of the men and women who had listened to him during the funeral service, wouldn't survive long enough to witness the end of this journey.

Their future would be difficult and hard. Many hardships. For Lee, too. Especially for Lee. He was the Commander's son. A burden with high expectations. But Adama had no doubt that Lee would meet them all, and more. He was his son. The Commander was just worrying about his difficult relationship with him. The short minutes of reunion between father and son had shown him that the feelings between them were still complicated and chilled. How would this affect the whole ship? Would Lee be able to separate the two roles William Adama possessed? Only time would tell if Lee could manage the loyalty towards his Commander and the complicated feelings for his father.

Adama ate his noodles thoughtfully, when there was a knock at the door. A visit? So late? Hopefully not the next disaster. He swallowed his bite quickly and washed it down with a sip of water.  
"Come on in."

One of the marines that was always guarding the Commander's private quarters, opened the door for President Roslin to enter. Laura Roslin stepped into the room, her eyes wandering around curiously and then remained standing undecidedly in the middle of the room.

Adama motioned her to take a seat.  
"Madame President, what do I owe the late visit?"  
Roslin took her time to sit down. She practically sank into the soft cushions of his favorite chair and closed her eyes with pleasure. William hid a rare smile, because he knew that there was no piece of furniture in the whole fleet that was more comfortable. Being the Commander of a Battlestar had its advantages, even if it was something as marginal as comfortable furniture.

When she'd found a relaxed position, Roslin opened her eyes and looked at him apologetically.  
"I don't want to disturb your meal. We can talk later?"  
Adama waved off and pushed the half-empty bowl away from him.  
"Now's as good a time as any. Can I offer you something, a glass of wine, perhaps?"  
"No, thank you. I won't stay long."

An awkward silence settled over them. Adama asked himself if she expected something particular from him, when she suddenly and unexpectedly came straight to the point.  
"Firstly, I suppose that I should thank you for deciding to bring us…"  
"Listen, you were right and I was wrong. Just leave it at that."Interrupted Adama. He had no great desire to talk about that again. As he'd said before, he didn't want to fiddle away his time with problems that had already been resolved. He'd rather concern himself with things in the future, things he could influence.

Roslin nodded and sighed. "All right. Now to the hard stuff."  
The Commander felt that he would get to know the reason for her nocturnal visit right now.  
"There's no Earth. You made it all up. President Adar and I once talked about the legends surrounding Earth. He knew nothing about a secret location regarding Earth, and if the President knew nothing about it, what are the chances that you do?"

She was an intelligent woman, that was undeniable. There was no sense in trying to fool her, not that he had planned to do that anyway.  
"You're right. There's no Earth. It's all a legend."  
Her irritated eyes met him, confronting him and her voice sounded snubbed.  
"Then, why? Why lie to them?"

Adama took a deep breath. He didn't expect her to understand his point of view. But that wasn't necessary anyway, it was enough if she accepted it.  
"Because it's not enough to just live. You have to have something to live for. Let it be Earth."  
"Your crew adores you. They'll never forgive you if they ever find out."  
He already knew that. Nothing was further from his mind than playing with his crew's confidence in his leadership. But sometimes it was for the best to lie, because it served for a greater good.  
"Maybe. But in the mean time, I've given all of us a fighting chance to survive. And isn't that what you said was the most important thing? The survival of the human race?"

Rosin bristled as he used her own words against her.  
"Who else knows?" she demanded to know.  
"Not a soul."  
She huffed and supported her head on her right hand. He was distributing some part of the load on her shoulders too, albeit unplanned. Laura was sure, if she wouldn't have asked him about Earth, he would've never told her a word about it. Roslin rolled her neck and started to realize that if she wanted this partnership between them to work, she would have to be the active part. And there was no time to lose. Laura knew that Adama didn't trust her judgment and it would take her some time to change that. So, better start now with promising him to keep his secret.  
"All right. I'll keep your secret, but I want something in return."  
No one said that she couldn't ask for something for her secrecy.

Adama watched her through the glasses of his spectacles.  
"I'm listening."  
"If a civilization is going to function, it's going to need a government. A civilian government, run by the President of the Colonies."  
"Political stability."  
"Exactly."

She was content with letting the effect of her words work. She was the rightful President of the 12 Colonies of Kobol. She made the decisions. Roslin would never go so far as acting on her own authority and against the peoples will. But if she was sure of something, she would try everything to follow through with it. And she would support Adama's proposals with the same level of resoluteness. If they proved to be reasonable and sensible. It wouldn't be long before this convoy would encounter the first armed conflicts. The threat of the Cylons still hung over their heads and this wouldn't change anytime soon. They would need strong, capable and above all, loyal elite leaders to prevent them from descending into chaos. The truth was, she needed Adama and his military and he needed her political expertise. Roslin was willing to work with him, but only if he showed her the same amount of respect and support that she was ready to give.

Adama understood what she was getting at. He stoop up, straightened his uniform and held out his hand.  
"So, you'll be in charge of the fleet. The military decisions stay with me."  
"Yes." She agreed, relieved that he proofed to be a wise man.  
"Well, then I'll think about it, Madame President."

They shook hands. This time not as two opponents looking for each other's weaknesses, but for the first time like two people carrying the same burden. Like allies, instead of rivals.

Roslin nodded and wished him a good night, then disappeared through the door. Adama fell back on the soft cushions. The pasta was cold. He stretched out his legs and closed his eyes. Sleep. Finally, but only briefly. So much had to be taken care of. The next day was already lurking. The next bunch of problems. The next life-threatening disaster. But he was ready.

The End…for now.

* * *

So, that's that. I hope you liked the story and that you look forward to a sequel. Sorry to say, but I don't know how long it will take me to post new chapters. Although I have some ideas, I need to organize them first and check that everything fits together logically. However, I can tell you that I plan to orientate the sequel along the first season of Battlestar Galactica. I'll adopt some of the episodes like they were actually aired, just with our favorite heroes from Stargate in the lead roles. I'll change some episodes and cancel others. And of course I plan to integrate my own ideas, too. (Plenty of them)

As i said, I already have some very precise ideas what should happen, but I would be open to other ideas too. So if there is something you want to see happen, write me a review or a pm and I'll see if it fits with my own ideas. Doesn't have to be limited to the first season, because I kind of would like to try to go through all four seasons.

PS: But I can already say one thing, I'm about 99,9 % percent sure that I won't include the 'final-five-storyline' into my story. Sorry if you're disappointed about that, but I never really liked that. It was highly confusing (at least for me) and it left me with more questions than answers by the time the final episode aired. Also, it was a little bit too spiritual for my liking. I would've liked it more if the authors would have focused more on the political and social conflicts inside the fleet and the military conflicts with the cylons. And, I don't plan to pick up on Starbuck's special destiny for the same reasons. Too many questions, not enough answers. For example, where the heck did she disappear to for the second time? I guess she wasn't a Cylon after all, but was she even human? And who was this mysterious piano man? What about her drawings?  
Again, hope that doesn't disappoint you, but I don't think it's wise to write about something I don't understand and don't find interesting at all.

PPS: I do have a preference for round numbers, so it would be very cool if we could reach 70 reviews for this story. I wouldn't complain about more than that, of course, but 70 reviews (or more)… would be pretty awesome for me. So, pound out those reviews…pretty please!


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